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1817 and 1818. 






No. 160 Pearl-street. 


Soutliern District of New-York, ss. 

Be IT REMEMBERED, that on the thirtieth day of January, ia 

the forty -fifth year of the Independence of the United States of Ame> 

(L. S.) rica, William Berrian, of the said District, hath deposited in this 

office the title of a Book, the right whereof he claims as Author, ia 

the words and figures following, to wit : 

" Travels in France and Italy, in 1817 and 1818. By the Rev. William Berrian, 

an Assistant Minister of Trinity Church, New-York." 

In conformity to the Act of the Congress of the United States, entitled, "An Act 
for the encouragement of Learning, ty securing the copies of Maps, Charts, and 
Books, to the authors and proprietors of such copies, during the time therein 
mentioned;" and also to an Act, entitled, " An Act, supplementary to an Act, en- 
titled, An Act for the encouragement of Learning, by securing the copies of Maps, 
Charts, and Books, to the authors and proprietors of such copies, during the time3 
therein mentioned, and extending the benefits thereof to the arts of designing, 
engraving, and etching historical and other prints." 

Clerk of the Southern District of J\l'etv-Yorl~ 



Voyage to France 





Journey to Bourdeaux 




Journey to Toulouse 






Nismes "\ 

* 46 

Pont du Gard 




Fountain ofVaucluse 






Voyage from Frejus to Nice 




Voyage to Lerici 


Journey from Lerici to Leghorn 






Journey to Florence 






Florence 89 

Journey to Rome 102 

Rome 107 

Excursion to Tivoli 145 

Rome 152 

Journey to Naples 158 

Naples 167 

Pompeii ; 170 

Herculaneum 177 

Excursion to Pozzuoli and Baias 179 

Excursion to Vesuvius 197 

Naples 200 

Excursion to Caserta 209 

Return to Rome 215 

Rome 222 

Journey to Loretto 250 

Loretto 261 

Ancona 266 

San Marino 274 

Rimini 277 

Ravenna 279 

Journey to Bologna 281 

Bologna 284 

Ferrara 291 

Arqua 297 

Padua 299 

Venice 303 

Vicenza 317 

Verona 320 



Mantua 325 

Parma 328 

Placentia 335 

Pavia 339 

Milan 343 

Italian character and manners 365 

Journey to Arona 370 

Arona 373 

Passage of the Alps 376 

Conclusion 384 






A State of great debility, and a slight tendency to 
consumption, occasioned in the first place by a cold ? 
and increased by the exercise of my ministerial 
duties, made it necessary to take some prompt and 
decided measures for the recovery of my health. A 
sea voyage, and the mild climate of the south of 
Europe, it was thought would be most effectual. I 
lost no time in carrying this plan into execution, and 
on the 11th of October, 1817, I set sail for Bour- 
deaux, in company with Bedding-field Hands, Esq. 
from the eastern shore of Maryland. The situation 
of my friend was much more alarming than my own. 
His journey was indeed a flight from the grave, 
which appeared already opening to receive him. 

Two Spaniards and a French gentleman, with the 
captain and mate, made up our whole society in the 
cabin. But the novel incidents of a sea voyage did 
not allow us, for some time, to feel its dulness. 

On the night of the 14th I was waked by a 
conversation of the mate with the captain. He 


came below to mention, that the wind was blowing* 
very strong. " How much sail is up?" So, and so* 
" If she cant bear that, then let her go." The cap- 
tain then very calmly went to sleep; but not so his 
more anxious passenger. I made a vain attempt 
to call his attention ; but, upon a little reflection, 
thought it better to be silent. Our rough Dutch 
boatswain soon followed the mate, with a similar 
report; but he also met with a like dismission. 
Some time after he returned, and, in his hoarse 
voice, which seemed portentous, spoke to our 
drowsy commander again — " It is blowing harder 
and harder, squally, squally." The captain then 
shook off his heaviness; all hands were called on 
deck; noise and tumult ensued; and I received a 
speedy initiation into some of the terrors of the rag- 
ing sea. But my anxiety, it appeared, was only the 
apprehension of a novice 

We had a very heavy squall on the 17th, which 
threw the sea into great agitation, and gave it an air 
of uncommon grandeur. But much of what is said 
about the" height of the waves in a storm, is only the 
exaggeration of a terrified fancy. We saw them at 
times foaming and raging with great fury, but never 
running mountains high Neither did the bound- 
less extent of the ocean appear to me as striking and 
magnificent as I had expected. Except in a perfect 
calm your vision is quickly limited. 

About four o'clock in the afternoon of this day 
there came on a most tremendous gale. To us the 
scene was new and terrific. The mind is thrown 
Into a kind of disturbance, by a crowd of circum- 


stances, in a storm, which no representation wiM 
excite in another. The noise of the waters, which 
every moment grew louder and louder; the whistling 
and roaring of the winds ; the flapping of the sails; 
the harsh voice of the speaking-trumpet; the hurry, 
bustle, and confusion of sounds ; the waves break- 
ing over the ship, and sometimes rushing into the 
cabin ; kept us for mote than an hour in a state of 
anxiety and alarm. The storm continued, with very 
little abatement of its fury, for three hours ; the ship 
running only under two small stay-sails, with the 
helm lashed. 

From the 18th till the 29th scarcely any thing 
worthy of remark occurred, except that favourable 
winds had brought us as far as Cape-Finistere. 
When the weather was dry and pleasant, which was 
seldom the case for a day together, we tried to take 
a little exercise on deck, and to search for amuse- 
ment even in trifles. But the greater part of the time 
was spent in a kind of listless vacuity, without the 
disposition or power to apply the mind to any thing; 
3. state void of enjoyment, and which leaves no im- 
pression behind it. 

I had taken out books, 1 thought, for all the moods 
in which we can be thrown ; but 1 frequently found 
one in which every resource of this kind fails. 1 had 
Hooker and Butler with me; but they could scarcely 
be comprehended in tossing and tempest. Poetry 
might delight an excited imagination, were there 
not so much to dissipate its illusions; and story and 
adventure lose all their interest in the more immedi- 
ate concern of passing events. Except in studying 


a little French, examining an itinerary, or dipping 
into the travels of some person who had been over 
the ground that we were soon to tread, I may almost 
say I read nothing. 

Shortly after our entrance into the Bay of Biscay, 
the wind shifted, and kept us beating about seven 
days. During this time the weather was generally 
mild and pleasant. 

When We came within a few hundred miles of the 
coast, we had a real source of amusement, in watch- 
ing the different signs of our approach. The sight 
of a land bird, the swimming of a blade of fresh 
grass, and every indication of our being nearer " the 
haven where we would be," gave us more pleasure 
than those who have never been at sea can perhaps 
conceive. And it was quite a diverting employment 
for many on board to catch the larks and sparrows 
that would fly to the ship for rest, and from weari- 
ness would almost drop into their hands. But what 
gave us all most heartfelt joy, was the sight of land 
itself. This was on the 5th of November, after we 
had been, twenty five days out. Our joy, however, 
was soon checked, by an unexpected circumstance. 
We could find no pilot to take us in. Three days 
and nights we were beating about on this perilous 
coast, ignorant of our precise situation, and liable 
to greater dangers (as 1 afterwards learnt from the 
mate) than landsmen were aware of. On the morn- 
ing of the fourth day the captain, growing impatient 
of delay, resolved to enter the mouth of the Garonne, 
a most difficult and hazardous passage, without m 


Nov. 8th. I cannot recall the terrors of that day 
without pain, nor the mercies without gratitude to 
God. The wind was blowing very heavily from the 
west, directly on the coast, which made it almost im- 
possible to get off again, if there should chance to be 
a mistake. The weather being somewhat hazy, the 
captain took a tower on the isle of Arvert, north of 
the Garonne, for the Cordouan light-house, in the 
mouth of the river, and made directly for the pas- 
sage between Arvert and the isle of Oleron, which 
is filled with shoals and sand-banks; and which, 
according to the chart, had not water enough for the 
draft of our vessel. We were then running at the 
rate of eight or nine knots an hour. Mr. Hands was 
the first who discovered the error. He saw the Cor- 
douan light-house below, and begged the captain 
to look at it. But not thinking himself bound to at- 
tend to the suggestions of a passenger, he pursued 
his own course, till he received another warning, 
that he did not feel authorized to neglect. In a few 
minutes the mate called out from the mast-head, 
" Captain, you are too near the shore, and you are 
going wrong." We were, at this time, not more 
than two miles from the isle of Arvert, and, as it 
appeared by the chart, on a sand-bank. The waters 
were muddy, the breakers near, and the soundings 
lessening every moment. We were thrown into the 
utmost consternation, and our hearts sunk within 
us, when we heard the cry of " seven fathoms," and 
" six and a half." In ten minutes more we would 
have been shipwrecked on the bank. The sails were 
instantly altered, and an endeavour was made to put 


about. It was a moment of dreadful suspense. "We 
saw the effort fail. We appeared to be drawing near 
the gates of death. Each one's fears were increased 
by the looks and exclamations of his neighbour. 
The panic even began to spread among the sailors. 
In order to increase the chance of success, in the 
next attempt to get off, it was necessary to give the 
ship more headway, and to go still nearer the gulf, 
which appeared yawning to devour us. How did 
our hearts spring within us when we found this at- 
tempt succeed ! Still, as we left this perilous lee- 
shore very slowly, we rejoiced with trembling. 

In a short time after our anxiety had subsided, we 
were again alarmed by a cry from aloft, of breakers 
ahead. Our ship, however, beat admirably to the 
windward, and we got clear of them. We were then 
running northerly, along the shores of Arvert and 
Oleron, and were still nearer than was safe. But 
comparatively we seemed to have little to appre- 
hend. Joy for our deliverance was seen in every 
face, and mutual congratulations passed between 

But our fears were very soon renewed, by another 
cry of breakers ahead. We could see them, in a 
long line on our right, dashing furiously over the 
rocks and sand-banks. 

This continual alternation of hope and fear was 
like the light of the gloomy day itself, which some- 
times broke out amid the lowering of the storm. 
There was even a more cruel aggravation of what 
we suffered. The danger now before us, though 
terrific, was not inevitable, and yet it like to have 


fefroyed us. But through all that day there was an 
instrument of mercy in the hand of God, who coun- 
teracted the evils which threatened us. Thus we 
escaped from these last breakers, when (as our mate 
afterwards told me) we were within half a cable's 
length of them, at four miles distance from the shore^ 
and where, if we had struck, we would have proba- 
bly perished. 

At length, about sun down, having weathered the 
island of Oleron, we got into Basque Roads, and 
came to anchor in a place which we were assured 
was safe, though the breakers apparently were still 
too near us. We went to bed in some uneasiness, 
from the apprehension that the wind might change^ 
and the anchor drag. But the ship remained firmly 
at her moorings. 

It is impossible to describe the painful and pro- 
tracted agitation of this anxious day. I felt the 
power and mercy of God in all their force. 1 consi- 
dered him not only as the Being with whom are the 
issues of life and death, but, as at that fearful mo- 
ment, deciding which of these should be mine. It 
was a tumultuous state of feeling; but when I took 
up my Prayer Book on the following day, after this 
storm of the mind had subsided, with the wind and 
violence of the ocean, and in the office to be used at 
sea, read the collect of thanksgiving and hymn of 
praise, it seemed as if my soul would melt within 
me at the recollection of God's love. I thought 
that henceforth I would only live to praise and glo- 
rify my Deliverer. And can 1 ever forget my im- 
pressions or my vows? 


It is curious to retrace our emotions on an agitat- 
ing occasion after we are at rest. I remember, in 
the first moments of our danger, when there was rea- 
son to fear we might instantly strike, that they were 
by no means as I would have expected. I gave one 
thought to my family and friends, and another to 
God, in whom I trusted ; but the objects before me 
occupied all the rest. I was watching intently every 
changing circumstance, catching hope or fear from 
the faces of those around me, and thinking of what 
was to be done in the worst event. And in the pro- 
bable prospect of the horrors of shipwreck, I recol- 
lect very well that my feelings were deep and solemn, 
but without anguish or distraction. How it might 
have been, in actually realizing these horrors, I can- 
not say, for there is a great difference between the 
faintest hope and the absolute extinction of it. 

Some ludicrous circumstances were also recalled* 
Not knowing what might happen, Mr. Hands and 
myself went down into the cabin, to secure our 
papers and money. I had two parcels of gold; but 
thinking if we should have to swim, they might be 
a dangerous kind of freight, I said to him, " Shall 
I take one or both ?" " Take both — take both." 
Two or three of the skipping Frenchmen too, who 
seemed as if they might go dancing to their graves, 
were for five minutes still and serious. But no sooner 
had we turned our backs to the breakers, than the 
wild and merry Gascon renewed his capers. 

Nov 9th. From the place where our vessel was 
lying we had a very extensive and pleasing view; 
the isles of Aix, Oleron, and Ree around us, and 


Rochelle at a short distance on the coast. The 
former were low and sandy, and wanting in trees 
and herbage, but they were enlivened by cheerful 
villages and the motion of myriads of wind-mills. 
The latter, with its ramparts and towers, had an air 
of great antiquity. Our curiosity is kept awake by 
the difference in the style of building, the aspect of 
the country, and the peculiarities in almost every 
object that meets the eye. 

This morning the pilot came on board, to take us 
around the isle of Ree to safer moorings. The alert 
spring with which he darted from his shallop to the 
vessel, the bustling activity with which he gave his 
orders, and his good humour and gaiety, were so 
characteristic, as to make us feel that we were in a 
new region. It was pleasing to behold the face of a 
stranger, and much more of a person whom we had 
so lately longed for in vain. 

From our anchorage in the Breton passage we 
could see on one side the loyal, the brave, and chi- 
valric province of La Vendee, the distant glimpse of 
which calls up the most interesting recollections; on 
the other the isle of Ree, with several of its neat 
and beautiful towns directly in sight, and steeples of 
churches still farther off, denoting the situation of 
others. Two of these towns, L'Oie and La Flolte, 
are composed of houses built of white free-stone. 
St. Martins, which is strongly fortified and encom- 
passed with walls, looks more gloomy and sub- 
stantial. In the latter there is a conspicuous object 
that particularly attracts attention, an ancient church 
in ruins, with one tower complete, and another go- 


ing to decay. On Tuesday evening the sun set most 
beautifully behind this town, imparting to the sky 
the richest and softest colouring, and diffusing a de- 
licate tinge over every thing below. The mild light 
appearing through a window of the ruined tower, 
together with the distinct outline which it gave to 
the whole building; the stillness and tranquillity of 
the scene before us, perhaps rendered still more 
agreeable by a secret comparison with the rude and 
dangerous scenes through which we had lately pass- 
ed 5 and the kind of associations, awakened by the 
sight of an object that bore some resemblance to the 
images which my own fancy had so often formed, 
brought my mind into a most peaceful and delight- 
ful state. After watching it till it was almost lost in 
the dimness of twilight, the sound of the bell ringing 
for prayers reached us, and added to this placid en- 
joyment the deep and solemn feelings of devotion. 

In the morning of this day we received the un- 
pleasant information, that our quarantine, instead of 
being five days, as we had expected, was prolonged 
to fifteen. It was some compensation to us to have 
better weather. There was a soft and renovating 
warmth in it which we could feel was doing us 

The 16th of November Was the sixth Sunday since 
our departure from New-York. From the nature of 
our company, and from their ignorance of the Eng- 
lish language, there was no opportunity of sanctify- 
ing the Sabbath, but in the secrecy of our own 
hearts. The Frenchmen and Spaniards, with a sin- 
gle exception, kept up their singing and endless 
frivolity as on other days. 


Nov. 20. Four days before the expiration of our 
quarantine the health-officer came out in a small 
boat near to our ship, and ordered all to make their 
appearance on deck. It was a call which we obeyed 
with alacrity. He remained a short distance from 
us, made particular inquiries about the number of 
the passengers and crew, and run over the company 
with an inquisitive glance before he ventured to 
come on board. The precautions of the guardians 
of health in France are so minute and scrupulous as 
to appear ridiculous, though they may be wise and 
expedient. When the fishermen supplied us with 
provisions, they did not dare to bring their barque 
along side. They would, in the first place, sail 
around us, to receive our orders, always keeping off 
so far that we had almost to crack our lungs before 
they could understand us. Then, on their return, 
it was necessary to let down our jolly-boat, and shove 
her astern. They would put the things in her which 
had been procured for us, and after the boat was 
drawn up she was sent back again with the money. 
They did not dread the contaminating touch of this 9 
though letters were always sprinkled with Vinegar. 
These regulations are so curious, that they have di- 
verted me from my narrative. 

We all strived to look as well as we could whe® 
the officer came on board ; and even a poor enfeebled 
sailor, who had long lain in his hammock, crawled 
upon deck, and put on a cheerful look, wihien was 
too languid, however, to be mistaken for the spright- 
liness of health. The man who was to be our jailer 
or deliverer, stopped a little to examine this suspici- 


ous face, but a good gloss being put upon the matter, 
he let it pass. After this review he told us our qua- 
rantine was finished. This release from our bondage 
was so unexpected, that we received it with a child- 
ish and extravagant joy. The afternoon was now 
somewhat advanced ; but though Rochelle was 
twelve miles from our anchorage, most of us deter- 
mined to get ready and go there that very night We 
were unwilling to return by a way where we had 
before been exposed to so much danger, and we 
apprehended new difficulties from the sickliness of 
one or two of the crew, when we should again be 
visited at Pauillac. 


In a short time we met a fishing boat, which came 
out of La Flotte, to take us to Rochelle. The wind 
was light, and we did not get up the harbour till past 
ten o'clock. The moon shone brightly, and gave a 
romantic effect to the old and ruinous towers which 
guard (or rather did in former times) the entrance of 
the city. From two of these a chain is extended at 
night across this narrow inlet. We found it already 
drawn up, as if to forbid our approach at so unsea- 
sonable an hour. The fishermen left their barque, 
and took us in a row boat under the chain, but with 
a stillness and caution which made us apprehensive 
that something was wrong, and that we might be 
challenged by the guards. We had heard that per- 
sons landing in violation of the quarantine laws were 
liable to be shot; and though we had been regularly 


released, yet we had no certificate of dismission. 
However, the sentries merely looked at us as we as- 
cended the stone steps at the side of the tower, and 
suffered us to pass without molestation. They were 
dressed in long grey coats, with hats of a conical 
shape and of the same colour, and their singular 
appearance corresponded with the strangeness of 
every thing else around us. We walked on hastily 
through the antique streets till we reached the hotel. 
The gates, which were high and massive enough for 
an old castle, were opened by a porteress, who also 
looked as if she belonged to other years. 

In walking out the next morning we beheld a 
world entirely new to us. The women of the lower 
class appear in the streets with high caps, projecting 
from each side, and generally terminating in a square 
platform. They also wear tight and long waisted 
jackets, with broad hipped petticoats tied around 
them, and wooden shoes. They are engaged in all 
kinds of laborious employments; some in driving 
asses with their panniers filled with manure, or laden 
with faggots; others in carrying about fish, and ve- 
getables, and fruits for sale. The costume of the 
men is more diversified, and though peculiar, is less 
distinctive. Every where among this class we ob- 
served the ruddiness of health, and often in the 
females a considerable degree of comeliness. 

There was but little interesting, however, in Ro- 
chelle, except to a stranger who had never before 
seen an European city. Even the towers lost their 
grandeur by daylight. The cabinet of natural his- 
tory is small, but well selected, and beautifully ar- 


One of the most singular things that I saw here 
caught my attention in looking out of the chamber 
of our hotel when I got up in the morning. It was 
the Diligence. Figure to yourself as spacious and 
clumsy a vehicle as your memory can recall among 
all the carriages of the most antiquated gentry of our 
country. Add to this the cabriolet, intended for the 
conducteur and one or two outside passengers, which 
is open in front, but sheltered by a cover; the im- 
perial, a large black case crowning the whole top, 
which is a receptacle for baggage ; and an immense 
basket behind for the same purpose, to which the 
coach bears about the same proportion as a pedlar 
to his pack. Get into this moving house, drawn at 
a dog trot by five horses, most sorrily harnessed, with 
drooping necks, and long tails tied up in a bunch, 
and you will have a tolerable idea of a French dili- 
gence. It may seem like a caricature, but such was 
the impression it first made on me. 


We remained two days at Rochelle, and then pro- 
ceeded to Rochefort. On the side of the road to- 
wards the sea there are extensive meadows for pas- 
turage. We saw a great number of cattle grazing 
on them (an unusual circumstance in France), and 
some of the cows were of extraordinary size. In 
this part of the country there are neither hedges nor 
fences, which at first sight gives it a naked and 


cheerless appearance; but apart from this circum- 
stance it is without variety or beauty. 

Rochefort contains an extensive maritime arse- 
nal. We applied to one of the officers for permission 
to see it. He told us that it was prohibited to stran- 
gers. We thought, perhaps, it might enforce the 
request to mention that we were Americans; but the 
order was general From the public garden, a plea- 
sant and elevated promenade, we saw the long range 
of magazines, and ships of war lying in the Charente, 
and this empty satisfaction was all that we were al- 
lowed in a place where our curiosity might have 
been so much gratified. 

The following day we proceeded to Saintes. In 
the evening we visited the triumphal arch which 
the people of Saintonge raised to the honour of 
Germanicus. It stands on a bridge which crosses 
the Charente. The silent touches of time have 
nearly obliterated the ornaments of the arch, and it 
derives almost all its interest from its great antiquity., 
and the fame, and worth, and misfortunes of the 
illustrious man to whom it was reared. 

When we returned to our hotel, and took our seats 
at the public table, we remarked a look and manner 
towards us amounting to rudeness and impertinence. 
We had noticed the same kind of deportment in the 
company at Rochefort. This, said I to myself, is 
the consequence of that horrible revolution which 
not only subverted the political institutions of the 
country, but entirely changed the manners of society. 
A new and vulgar race has sprung up, and instead 
©f the ease, the courtesy, and finished elegance of 


the old regime, we have the coarseness and brutality 
of the sans culottes. But I had entirely mistaken the 
cause of their incivility. From some gross observa- 
tions on the mode of living in England, which were 
evidently pointed at us, it appeared that we were 
taken for Englishmen: for as soon as they discovered, 
from our travelling companions, that we were Ame- 
ricans, there was a very striking change in their be- 

The next morning we procured a guide, who 
took us to some of the most remarkable ptaces in 
the neighbourhood of Saintes. After having visited 
the ruins of the church of St. Seroine he conducted 
us to the burying-ground. The part which we first 
entered was open to the road, and only contained 
the graves of a few Protestants. The other, which ' 
was filled with Roman Catholics, was enclosed by 
a low and neat hedge. " There," said our guide, 
pointing to the latter, " lie the Christians, and here 
lie the Protestants." 

But there is very little to gratify curiosity in this 
neighbourhood, except the remains of a Roman am- 
phitheatre. It is situated in a narrow dell, which 
runs towards the city. The form of it appears to be 
elliptical. The length of the greater axis is about 
3b0 feet. From the top of the only arch that is en- 
tire, which is probably 50 feet above the arena, the 
view is extremely picturesque, and it receives a 
strong moral interest from the reflections which na- 
turally spring up in the mind. This arena, which 
had so often been filled with beasts, and perhaps 
with men, contending with each other ; which had 


resounded with the clashing of weapons, the groans 
of the dying, and the shouts and acclamations of the 
spectators; is now converted into a peaceful field, 
where a boy was attending his sheep. On one side, 
still higher than the amphitheatre, were the remains, 
as it is supposed, of an ancient aqueduct ; nearly 
opposite to us, on the very edge of the walls, two 
cottages of a neat and rural appearance ; on the 
other side, within the arena, the fountain of St. Eus- 
telle ; and, on turning around, we had a view of the 
Gothic tower and spire of St. Eutrope, the sloping 
bank covered with gardens, and the green valley 
below, interrupted by an arched road, and terminated 
by the city of Saintes. 

Tradition relates, that Saint Eustelle was the 
daughter of a Roman praetor in the province of Saint- 
onge, who, upon her embracing Christianity, was 
driven from her father's house, and took refuge with 
the Archbishop of Saintes. To this fountain, which 
is beneath a recess in the side of the hill, and covered 
by a simple arch, she constantly retired to hold 
communion with heaven. The choice of such a 
place for a sacred oratory was singular ; and whether 
the legend be true or fabulous, the contrast between 
the peaceful fountain of St. Eustelle and this place 
of tumult and blood, gives us a real and increased 

In the afternoon we visited the ruins of a Roman 
bathing-house, and saw some coins which had been 
found there of the reigns of Vespasian and Antoni- 
nus. In the evening we went to hear a Roman Ca- 
tholic missionary at St. Peter's. But his delivery 



was so rapid and vehement, that ft was difficult to 
Understand him. One part of his discourse, how- 
ever, if I did not misapprehend him, was sufficiently 
ludicrous. After having established certain points, 
as he supposed incontestably, he called upon those 
who might still have their doubts to propose them, 
and then sat down. The whole congregation arose, 
but instead of accepting his challenge they united 
with one voice in a delightful chant. The gesticu- 
lation of this preacher was violent beyond all deco- 
rum; and once or twice, to make it still more signi- 
ficant, he seized the black cap which he wore, and 
slapped it on the pulpit. But the respectful attention 
of the people, their devout appearance and profound 
prostration in the course of the service, the earnest- 
ness and animation with which they sung, the dim 
light which only illuminated one part of the church, 
and showed its Gothic architecture to more advant- 
age, were all calculated to inspire the deepest so- 
lemity and awe. 

25th. On leaving Saintes we passed through an 
avenue of forest trees, several miles long; and when 
the sun arose, it brought into view a charming coun- 
try. The surface was varied by hill and valley, and 
every spot presented the marks of the most careful 
cultivation. The fields in general throughout France 
are neither enclosed by hedges nor fences* They 
have, therefore, at first, from our peculiar associa- 
tions, an appearance of sterility and nakedness. They 
are commonly separated from the road, and from 
each other, by a small ditch and low embankment. 
Sometimes, however, they are lined by rows of forest 

Bf,AYE. 27 

trees or willows, and occasionally by hedges. From 
the peculiarity just noticed, as well as from the uni- 
versal scarcity of woods and groves, we have a full 
and distinct view of the country as far as the sight can 
range. This uninterrupted prospect, together with 
the different forms of the fields, which are often so 
disposed as if it were designed to please the eye, 
and the novel appearance of the vineyards, give to 
the landscape a certain kind of interest and beauty, 
though not of a high and romantic cast. 

We met a number of peasants near De Tollier, 
with smiling countenances and holiday attire, going 
to attend a wedding; and at night we were disturbed 
by the jollity and carousing of some of them, who 
stopped at our ion on their return. 

We left this place at an early hour the next 
morning. As we drew near to Blaye the vineyards 
were more numerous, and, judging merely from the 
vigour of the stock (as the grape was gathered, and 
the foliage gone), of a richer and more luxuriant 
growth. The face of the country was agreeably 
diversified, and the prospect extended and adorned 
by the wide waters of the Garonne. 

The road was covered with peasants in their best 
and gayest dresses, who were going to a fair at 
Blaye. Some of the women were mounted on jack- 
asses, in the common way, and one or two were 
riding like men. Here, red handkerchiefs thrown 
over the head, contrasted strongly with blue petti- 
coats, or red petticoats with blue handkerchiefs. 
There, the round crowned hat and short jacket, the 
common costume of the men, confounded the sire 

28 BLAYE. 

of seventy with his grandson of fifteen. The multi- 
tude of asses and horses, either carrying things to 
the fair, or, more frequently, purchasers, to buy what 
was exposed there, were mixed promiscuously with 
the foot travellers of both sexes and all ages. And 
the whole crowd moved on with an eager and cheer- 
ful step, with merriment and laughter, and rsady for 
a joke with all who passed them. We here remark- 
ed, as we had done before, that they were all com- 
fortably and well dressed. In this part of France, 
indeed, we never met with the wretched and squalid 
appearance of extreme poverty. On entering Blaye 
we had some difficulty in driving through the throng 
at the fair, and we saw the display of fine things 
which had drawn so many together. 

As soon as we had seated ourselves at breakfast, 
a young woman came in to amuse us with her voice 
and guitar. A trifling present was expected in 
return from each of the company. Before she had 
left us, another entered with a collection of trinkets 
for sale, whose importunity could only be stopped 
by some, small purchase. Scarcely had we made 
the selection, when a tali and worn-out veteran be- 
gan to boast of his battles and his scars, and con- 
cluded with lamenting that he had to stoop from so 
glorious a profession to solicit our alms. We granted 
this one's boon also ; but we finished our breakfast in 
haste, for fear the succession might be endless. 

After spending a few hours here, we took passage 
in a confined and dirty boat, which plies between 
Blaye and Bourdeaux, and were pressed together in 
a cabin not large enough for our number, nor high 


enough for our heads. Unfortunately it rained at 
intervals during the passage, so that we lost much 
of the beauty of the country on the banks of the 
Garonne. In one place we were struck by a num- 
ber of huts cut out of the high and perpendicular 
rocks overhanging the river, which seemed to be a 
strange and giddy abode for man. 


Bourdeaux is pleasantly situated on the western 
bank of the Garonne. The face of the city follows 
the bend of the river, in the form of a crescent ; and 
the range of beautiful stone houses along the quay, 
which is between two and three miles in length, can 
be taken in at a single glance. The depth of water 
not being sufficient for the vessels to come up to the 
quay, they lie out in the stream, and are unladen 
by barges. The high grounds on the eastern bank 
fall in gentle slopes to the river, presenting in the 
vineyards, the fields, and country seats, a rare union 
of rural beauty and elegance. 

The modern part of the city is built with great 
stateliness and regularity. The houses are from three 
to five stories high, and frequently throughout whole 
streets very uniform in their appearance. The allees 
de Toumay, a broad street, shaded with a double 
row of large trees, and the Champ de Mars, are agree- 
able promenades. The Palais Royal, formerly the 
Strchiepiscopal palace, is a fine building; the Ex- 


change is convenient and spacious; and the Theatre 
is thought to be one of the handsomest in Europe. 
The area which it covers is immense, and the noble 
portico of Corinthian pillars corresponds with the 
magnitude and splendour of the other parts of the 
edifice. There is an air of solidity and grandeur in 
this city which brick can never give, and though the 
white stone of which the houses are built in a few 
years acquires a dusky and gloomy cast, yet the ge- 
neral effect is very imposing. 

The commercial prosperity to which Bourdeaux 
was indebted for these modern improvements, has 
declined very much since the loss of St. Domingo. 
A respectable French merchant, who, in talking of 
the subject, ascribed it to this circumstance, surpris- 
ed me very much by one of his remarks on the gene- 
ral state of the country. " France," said he, " is 
burdened with a population which she is unable to 
support, and I therefore consider Dr. Jenner's dis- 
covery of vaccination, which tends to increase this 
evil, as a very great misfortune." 

During our stay in this city Mr. Bonnafe took us to 
the old Gothic church of St. Michael, which was 
erected about the end of the ninth century. We 
here saw a most hideous and disgusting spectacle. 
In the savage phrenzy of the revolution, a great num- 
ber of dead bodies had been dug up in this church. 
From the peculiar properties of the ground in which 
they were interred, they were found to be singularly 
preserved ; and they are now placed, either in stand- 
ing or sitting postures, around the lower chamber of 
the belfry. A pile of bones is heaped together in the 


middle. They still retain something of the human 
form, though but tittle of its appearance. The bodies 
are shrunk, the skin blackened and shrivelled and 
drawn tightly over the bones, and the hair and beard 
of some have not fallen oif, though they have been 
dead a long time, and one of them, as it was said 3 
even five hundred years. The sexton gave us an 
account of their sex, profession, or rank, as he passed 
around, with the familiar story of a showman, and 
handled their limbs with a sang-froid which shocked 
us. It was a painful and humiliating sight, and we 
soon hurried away from it. 

The Metropolitan church is a large structure, in the 
same style, and almost of as great antiquity. The 
exterior is curious, but surrounded and deformed by 
private buildings. In the vast space, the graceful 
proportions, and rich ornaments of the interiour, my 
preconceived ideas of the grandeur and solemnity 
of a Gothic cathedral, were in a great measure re- 

As it was our intention to stay only a few days 
here, we did not deliver all our letters. A part of 
these, however, lead to more civilities than our time 
would permit us to receive. The kindness of several 
is remembered, but particularly of our hospitable 
countrymen, Mr. Morton and Mr. Ogden. These 
gentlemen made us almost forget that we were so- 
journers in a strange land. 

Our lodgings were in the hotel de France, a gen- 
teel establishment, but not the most expensive, We 
had a well furnished parlour, and two neat bed- 
chambers. A small kitchen and another apartment 


belonged to the suite, though we had no occasion for 
them. These were ten francs a day. Our meals 
were served up in our own room, and though the 
greater part of the time we merely breakfasted at 
home, our other expenses at the hotel averaged 
about twenty-five francs more. This did not cor- 
respond very well, with the common representations 
of the cheapness of living in the south of Fiance. 


We passed about ten days at Bourdeaux, and then 
Set out in a hired cabriolet, with post horses. The 
attractions of this agreeable place might have lead 
us to prolong our visit, had it not interfered with the 
great object of our journey. Winter had already 
commenced, and we found ourselves amidst fog and 
rain, at a great distance from the mild and serene 
climate of which we were in pursuit. 

The i*>ad kept along the Garonne through a neat 
and well cultivated country, till we reached Langon, 
a place much celebrated for the superior excellence 
of its white wines. I suppose it was from their well 
known reputation that several women pressed around 
our carriage, while it stopped for a moment in the 
village, to offer us some for sale. After crossing the 
river, we rode at the foot of a long range of hills, im- 
proved to their very summits, and adorned with large 
and handsome country seats. The river followed 
them in their irregular course, and was bordered on 


the right by a pleasant and fertile plain. The trees 
were not yet entirely stripped of their leaves, and 
there was a degree of verdure in the fields from the 
grass and wheat, which made us promise ourselves, 
in the more southern parts of France, the freshness 
and beauty of spring. 

We remained at La Reole on Sunday, and the 
next day continued our journey. The face of the 
country bore the same character till we reached 
Agen. The road was admirably formed, and in ex- 
cellent condition* Sometimes it was cut out of the 
sides of steep hills ; at others it was elevated in the 
valleys like a bridge, and walled on each side with 
solid stone. It was often lined also for a great extent 
with rows of forest trees. As we approached the 
Pyrenees, the grounds were more broken and hilly^ 
and the views more bold and picturesque. 

Astaforl, Lectoure, and Montastruc, and almost all 
the towns and villages on the, rouie, are' in high and 
commanding sitviations. From the number of stee- 
ples, and the height of the houses, their appearance 
at a distance is quite pleasing. In entering them, 
however, their beauty generally vanishes away, and 
we are disgusted with the filthiness of the streets, and 
the sordid appearance of the buildings. 

In our journey from Bourdeaux to Auch, we crossed 
the Garonne, the Lot, and the Gers, and almost every 
stage was enlivened by the prospect of the water. 

The great scarcity of woods in France produces 
one effect, which nearly destroys the beauty of their 
finest views. The trees are stripped in a great mea- 
sure of their branches, and cut down to the very trunk. 


We meet with all the charms that cultivation can 
give; but none of the romantic wildness of nature. 

In the neighbourhood of Auch we observed 
greater sterility and nakedness on the hills, and felt 
more of the chilliness and desolation of winter. The 
situation of this place, perched upon an eminence, 1 
with its noble cathedral and other public buildings, 
rendered it the most striking town on our route. 

Here I inquired for my friend Mr. Bellegarde, and 
was informed that he lived about fifteen miles from 
Auch. I rode out immediately to see him; and, 
on arriving at the chateau, was shown to the parlour, 
where there was no one but a female servant. I 
mentioned my name, and she went with it to her 
master, but some mistake being made, Mr. Belle- 
garde expected to find a stranger. If one had risen 
from the dead before him, his surprise could not have 
been greater than when he saw me. He started 
back involuntarily exclaiming, Omon Dieu! — Je suis 
enchante, Je suis enchante, and then throwing his 
arms around me, he kissed me, and showed every 
mark of. unfeigned and extravagant joy. It was a 
long time before he could recover from his surprise ; 
and afterwards he kept taking my hand every few- 
minutes, repeating how glad he was to see me. The 
different members of the family were introduced one 
after another, who all seemed to share in his pleasure. 
1 was afterwards taken into the room of his aged and 
paralytick mother. A gleam of joy lightened up her 
vacant and distorted countenance, in seeing a friend 
of her son, and her tongue made a confused effort to 
give me the welcome of her heart. 


The chateau de Bellegarde is a long striae building, 
with a single wing, almost equal in length to the 
front. The country around is pleasant, and in a 
clear day they have a full and distinct view of the 
Pyrenees, from Perpignan to Bayonne. They live 
in a kind of rustic simplicity and elegance which 
charmed me. The dining-room is very large, and 
hung around with family portraits. An immense tire- 
place, which admits of a chair in each corner, was 
crackling with the most cheerful blaze I had seen 
in France. Mr. Bellegarde's inquiries about our 
common friends called up all my recollections of 
home, and in hearing a voice, and seeing a face so 
familiar, I almost forgot that I was so far from it. 
With the sisters also, I had a great deal of conversa- 
tion on our respective religions, where I found them 
as ready to communicate information as to ask it. 
One of them, who had been much in the world, and 
spent some time at Rome, was of an enlarged and 
liberal turn of mind, but yet strongly attached to her 
own faith. She could not help expressing the hope, 
that my visit to the Holy See might lessen the dif- 
ference between us. As to the old ladies, they took 
no part in these matters, but talked unceasingly of 
madame mafemme, ma petite jille, et petit garcon. At 
the close of this most interesting day, 1 felt a satisfac- 
tion and delight which can only be produced by 
the kindness of friends among a nation of strangers. 
In the morning, after a few more pleasant hours, I 
left the chateau de Bellegarde, with an uncommon 
regret, which seemed to be sincerely reciprocated. 
They all pressed me to return and spend some days 


with them r^. the spring, and then to go to the waters 
of Bareges. I made a conditional promise to do so, 
if my route should lie within any reasonable distance 
of their hospitable mansion. 

The cathedral at Auch is a superb specimen of 
the Gothic style, and in magnitude, curious workman- 
ship, richness, and splendour, surpassed the Metro- 
politan church at Bourdeaux. The painted windows, 
representing historical parts of scripture, monkish 
legends, and fanciful figures and decorations, shone 
with a beauty and brilliancy that might almost vie 
with the colours of the rainbow, and at the same time 
only admitted a softened light, well suited to a place 
of meditation and prayer. There was a vastness and 
solemnity in this church, which might serve to fill 
the mind with higher ideas of the Being who was 
worshipped there. But striking as it appeared, it 
had been shorn of its brightness in the French revo- 
lution, and those who spoke of it, seemed to feel 
something like the Israelites, who remembered their 
temple in its first glory. 

The country through which we passed from Auch 
to Toulouse was less beautiful, but the Pyrenees 
were almost constantly in sight. Their rugged sides 
being streaked with snow, and their pointed summits 
entirely covered with it, presented a singular appear- 
ance of light and shade, as well as of novelty and 


This is a large and populous city, but the streets 
are so irregular, that we were lost in them at every 
turn. We scarcely ever went a hundred yards from 
our hotel without being under the necessity of in- 
quiring the way back again. But besides the irre- 
gularity of the streets, they are dark and gloomy ? 
and so wanting in cleanliness as to be intolerable 
even in mid-winter. The Capitolium, or Hotel de 
Viile, is the only public building we saw which ap- 
peared to have any degree of beauty or elegance. 
As it was damp and rainy during the greater part of 
the time we staid there, we should not have been dis- 
posed to be very minute in our observations, even if 
there had been more to provoke our curiosity. From 
the softness of the air, the climate of this place is 
said to be salubrious, and many English families are 
accustomed to make it their winter residence. We 
may have seen Toulouse under an unfavourable as- 
pect, but it did not appear to us to possess a single 
attraction. The promenade along the great canal 
of Languedoc, which is here connected with the 
Garonne, is shady and pleasant. There is another 
interesting walk on the hills in the environs, where 
the battle was fought, in 1814, between Lord Wel- 
lington and Marshal Soult. This useless and bloody 
contest, which, it has been thought, arose from the 
eagerness of the generals to try each others bravery 
and skill, even after the news of peace had reached 


them, might make it a melancholy ramble, were not 
every trace of destruction and carnage so completely 
lost. We walked over the ground, and from a de- 
scription of the affair, together with plates, showing 
the position of the two armies, and the different 
points of attack, we were able to form a good idea 
of the battle. 

On Sunday I attended the service of the French 
Protestant church. The minister wore a gown and 
bands, and conducted the worship of the people by 
a liturgy. The only extemporary prayers were im- 
mediately before and after sermon. I was pleased 
with the warmth and earnestness of the preacher, 
but shocked by the levity and indecorum of the 
congregation. On entering the church there was no 
reverent composing of the mind for the solemnities 
of the place. Before the service talking was carried 
on not in a suppressed voice, but almost in the tones 
of ordinary conversation. During the sermon many 
of the people wore their hats ; and when it was 
over, they hurried away without a pause to suppli- 
cate GoB's blessing on what they had heard. Op- 
pression and persecution, it might have been thought, 
would have produced an ardent zeal. But, on the 
contrary, the apparent devotion of the Roman Ca- 
tholics, and the cold indifference of these people, 
formed a singular contrast, and I should not think 
that a person dissatisfied with Popery would find 
himself much impressed by such an exhibition of 

In the afternoon I went there again, expecting to 
find a divine of the same church ; but was surprised 


and delighted on entering to hear the endeared 
sounds of our own liturgy, and to see all that deco- 
rum and respect in the worshippers, for which they 
are so much distinguished. I felt at home, in the 
bosom of my own communion, and seemed to be in 
the society of my friends, though they were not even 
my countrymen. About thirty or forty English peo- 
ple were assembled, and Mr. Ellison, an Irish clergy- 
man, officiated. He preached from the text, thy will 
be done. It was a clear, able, and impressive dis- 
course, delivered in a grave and chastened manner, 
but yet with force and animation. He read the ser- 
vice also with great propriety and devotion. 

Dec. 16th. To-day we hired a cabriolet to take us 
to Castelnaudary. It seemed as if every voiturin in 
the place knew that we were pressed for time, and 
was in concert with his neighbour to take advantage 
of our necessity. We could not get a conveyance 
for thirty-five miles under fifty francs, which we were 
afterwards told was three times as much as it was 
worth. The noble chain of the Pyrenees presented 
itself at almost every elevation of the road. But we 
were much disappointed with the level, naked, and 
uninteresting appearance of this part of Languedoc. 

The next day we took passage for Carcassonne on 
the canal. It is a most irksome mode of travelling, 
and, to relieve the tsedium, I frequently got but of the 
boat and walked. As it is very economical, the com- 
pany of course is less select. To escape from such 
a beggarly set as chance threw in our way, was 
another reason for my preferring the land. There 
was no difficulty in keeping up with the boat, nor 


even in getting far ahead of it, for though we set out 
before day-break, we did not arrive at Carcassonne, 
a distance of only twenty-four miles, till towards 

The canal of Languedoc is an object of great curi- 
osity to strangers, and of immense importance to 
the country, both from the revenue which it yields, 
and the facilities it affords to commerce. It was 
planned and executed by M. Ricquet, in the reign 
of Louis the fourteenth. This great undertaking was 
begun in 1666, and finished in 1630. It was first 
intended to supply it by the waters of the Garonne, 
but the elevation of some parts of the country, through 
which it was to pass above the river, made this 
scheme impracticable. At Narouse, which is the 
highest point between the two seas, there is a basin 
1200 [eet long and 900 broad, which is always filled 
with water to the depth of seven feet. Another was 
made at St. Ferreol, 7200 feet long, 3000 broad, and 
120 deep, two sides of which are formed by two 
mountains, and the third by a strong mole. This 
communicates with the former by means of an aque- 
duct, and that with the canal by sluices. These basins 
have a perennial supply from the springs in the moun- 
tains. The canal is 60 feet in breadth, six in depth, 
and 150 miles in length. When the gates are near 
each other, the space between them, both on the 
bottom and sides, is lined with solid cut stone ; or, if 
they stand alone, they are defended each way, for 
perhaps a hundred feet, in the same manner. Grace- 
ful stone bridges are frequently thrown across the 
canal, and small intersecting streams in deep beds 

i' ou lou si., 41 

are carried under arches beneath. On the way from 
Narbonne to Beziers, a passage of seven hundred 
feet long is pierced for it through the solid rock. It 
Is indeed a grand and magnificent work, connecting 
the Mediterranean and the Atlantic seas, but perhaps 
it will be surpassed, both in magnitude and conse- 
quence, by the great canal of our own state. 

Within about twelve miles of Narbonne the coun- 
try grew more beautiful. Olive trees, fine vineyards, 
and greater variety in the surface of the grounds, 
relieved the eye, after the dull uniformity of the 
plain through which we had lately passed. Winter 
is seen in the south of France more distinctly than 
I had expected, though not in the dreariness and 
desolation of our frozen clime. The pale green leaf 
of the olive faintly smiles in the decay of nature. 
The mulberry tree does not lose its foliage, but it is, 
in a great measure, stripped off to furnish food for 
the silk worm. The fields of grain partially enliven 
the general waste. It is a mild region, but not the 
seat of perpetual spring. In this part of our journey 
the bent of the olive trees, and the uniform direction 
of their leaves and branches, show that it is some- 
times subject to winds more lasting and violent than 
our own. 

The soil here is, in many places, of a deep red, and 
the enormous stem of the close cut grape vines is a 
proof of its strength. 

At Narbonne we again met Mr. Ducerf, with 
whom we had travelled from Rochelle to Bourdeaux. 
It is delightful to see any face in a foreign land that 
we have ever seen before. In the present instance 



our pleasure was greater than common, for this gei^- 
tleman seemed almost like a familiar friend. He 
had bestowed on us many little attentions which 
were not only gratifying but useful, and took us, as 
it were, under his protection. Our country was the 
ground of his predilection, and wherever we went 
lie was at some pains to remove prejudices against 
us, by making it known that we were Americans. 
He was a man of a playful and good humoured 
countenance, of frank and engaging manners, intel- 
ligent, communicative, sociable, and kind; in short, 
one of those persons of whom only a few are neces- 
sary to change our impressions of a whole people, to 
convert dislike into partiality, and contempt into 

Beziers, situated on a lofty eminence, and sur- 
rounded by high walls, has an appearance of great 
strength, and in former times might have been im- 
pregnable. It is now a place of little importance. 
The streets are of a toilsome steepness, irregular, 
and filthy. The walk on the terrace above is plea- 
sant even at this season, but in summer the surround- 
ing country is said to be delightful. We went to 
examine here the greatest fall in the canal of Lan- 
guedoc, which is so considerable as to require nine 
gates. The district between Beziers and Montpellier 
is extremely rich and well cultivated, and is justly 
considered the garden of France. The wines of 
this part, and particularly of Lunel, have a high re- 
putation. When we first came in sight of Montpel- 
lier, we were charmed with the view of the city and 
its beautiful environs. 



1 had letters here to two or three persons, which 
procured me a profusion of civil sayings, and pro- 
mises of service and kindness, but which were all 
<oox et prelerea nihil. The Esplanade is a pleasant 
public walk, but the Place du Peyrou is one of the 
most elegant in Europe. It is elevated a little above 
the city, and supported by a handsome stone wall, 
which rises to the level of the square. To the north 
is a kind of semicircular valley, with gentle sloping 
hills rising behind, and sweeping around to the east, 
till they run out into the sea. A noble aqueduct, 
with a double range of arches, stretches across it, and 
terminates at the Place du Peyrou, in a large foun- 
tain covered by an open and graceful rotundo. Water ? 
gushing from every side, runs over mossy stones, ar- 
tificially disposed to resemble nature. On the south 
we behold the Mediterranean, and on the west more 
faintly the distant Pyrenees. 

In the cathedral we saw an esteemed picture of 
Bourdon, and in the school of medicine, the anato- 
mical preparations in wax, of the celebrated Fontana. 
All the wonders of the human frame are here repre- 
sented, with a beauty, minuteness, and fidelity, which 
show the most patient labour a,nd astonishing skill 
in the artist. 

There was one thing, however, at Montpellier of 
more than ordinary interest, the grave of Narcissa, 
the daughter of Young. Every one recollects his 


feeling: lines on her clandestine interment. '* Stran- 
gers to kindness wept," but yet they would not give 
her a place for burial. 

" For oh ! the curst ungodliness of zeal ! 

" While sinful flesh relented, spirit nurst 

" Tn blind infallibility's embrace, 

" Deny'd the charity of dust, to spread 

" O'er dust! a charity their dogs enjoy. 

" What could I do? what succour? what resource ? 

" With pious sacrilege a grave I stole; 

*' With impious piety that grave I wrong'd ; 

*' Short in my duty; coward in my grief! 

" More like her murderer than friend, I crept, 

" With soft suspended step : and muffled deep 

" In midnight darkness whispered my last sigh." 

The body rests under an arch in the botanical 
garden. The fiends of the French revolution, who 
envied even the repose of the dead, destroyed the 
monument which had been raised over the grave ; 
and there is not now as much as that slight elevation 
of the ground, which tells us, in the absence of mar- 
ble and inscriptions, that here lie the ashes of the 

Among all the strangers who have since visited 
this place, not one has been found to raise another 
monument, and the first proposition for this purpose, 
has been recently, made by Talma, a famous French 
actor. He offered a hundred louis d'or towards this 
object, but I am ignorant whether any have imitated 
so generous an example. 

With the exception of two or three broad streets, 
which are neat and handsome, and some fine houses 
in others, which are so narrow that we could shake 
hands across them, there is nothing to distinguish 
Montpellier from many other cities of less note, but 


its advantageous position, public walks, and salubri- 
ous climate. It has even lost the latter recommenda- 
tion, with respect to pulmonary complaints, and va- 
letudinarians no longer rest, till they have felt the 
more genial influences of an Italian sky. The 
weather was somewhat mild while we remained 
here, but it is very subject to the vent de bize y or north- 
west wind, and the chilly wind from the sea. The 
one being dry and piercing, and the other charged 
with vapours, they are equally unfavourable to the 

We lodged at the Hotel du Midi. We breakfasted 
and dined at the table d'hote, occupied together a 
single chamber, in which we kept a fire, and in alj. 
respects lived simply and economically, but yet oui 
daily expenses were twelve francs apiece. 

Having spent several days very pleasantly at Mont- 
pellier, we left it on the 24th, for Nismes. The wea- 
ther was rainy and disagreeable, and the tedious pace 
of the horses would have been insufferable, had not 
our time been beguiled by the eccentricities of an 
English gentleman, whom we had met with two or 
three times on our route, and by the political discus- 
sions of some Frenchmen, who were in the coach 
with us. One of them took a ground, which we had 
not found maintained by any other person since our 
arrival in France. Every where we had heard com- 
plaints against the oppression of the allies, regrets at 
the recent changes, sighs at the departure of their 
glory, reproaches and execrations almost against the 
man who had raised it to the highest pitch, and then, 
by a frantic ambition, sported with his own work, and 


lost more than he had won. But this person openly 
opposed his companions, exculpated the measures of 
the reigning monarch, defended the policy, and in- 
sisted upon the necessity of the occupation of France 
by the allied armies. 


Nismes is chiefly interesting on account of the 
relicks of its ancient importance, under the govern- 
ment of the Romans. The old streets are crooked, 
rarrow, close, and offensive; but there is a taste for 
improvement here, and in the modern parts of the 
city, they are sometimes wide and elegant. 

The amphitheatre has resisted so well the ravages 
of time and war, that it will doubtless continue to 
gratify the curious for ages to come. The whole of 
this edifice is composed of prodigious blocks of stone, 
put together without cement, and fastened only by 
cramps of iron. The form of it is elliptical, and the 
order of the architecture Tuscan. The great diameter,, 
which runs from east to west, is 405 feet; the shorter, 
from north to south, is 31 7 feet ; the height is 66 feet ; 
the circumference 1140 feet. The first story is an 
open portico, consisting of 60 arcades, all radiating 
from the centre, and serving as so many gates for ad- 
mission into the amphitheatre. The second story 
is like it. Tuscan pilasters fill up the space between 
the lower arcades, and columns the upper. Above is 
a simple attic, without openings of any kind, and 

NI3MES, 47 

almost without ornament. The cornice of this is 
pierced at certain distances with holes. In these the 
posts were placed to support the tents, which sheltered 
the spectators from heat and rain. It is supposed 
that seventeen thousand persons could have been 
accommodated in this amphitheatre. The exterior is 
almost perfect. Within it is in a more ruinous state, 
but the corridors are entire, and are only encumbered 
occasionally with a few fallen stones. So many of 
the vomitories still remain, and so many of the seats 
rising above one another in regular order, and enlarg- 
ing their circuit as they ascend, are still in their 
original situation, that we were enabled to form a very 
just idea of its internal structure. We ranged through 
the winding galleries, passed through the inlets, 
which in many places were almost choaked with rub- 
bish, clambered over the mouldering arches, and 
mounted the steps, which in one part were better pre- 
served than the rest, till we reached the summit; and 
there, whilst we contemplated this majestic ruin, our 
recollection of the purposes to which it was devoted, 
was almost lost in our admiration of the solidity and 
grandeur of the work. 

The Maison Carree is built on a very small seale ? 
but it is esteemed a model of architectural beauty. 
It is so called, because the form of it is an oblong 
square, and because the original designation of it hav- 
ing been a matter of dispute among antiquaries, fhey 
were ignorant till lately of its proper name. When 
the Abbe Barthelemy examined this edifice, he re- 
marked on the frieze and the architrave, that there 
had been two inscriptions in letters of brass fastened 

48 3HSMKS. 

by nails. The metal had been torn off, but the 
marks of the nails were still visible. It occurred to 
him, that by these marks it might be possible to make 
out the inscriptions, and on his return to Nismes he 
proposed to have a scaffolding raised, and to test the 
truth of his conjectures. This, however, he neglect- 
ed; but in a dissertation which he afterwards read in 
the Academy of Belles Lettres, he offered those hints, 
which he had before given privately to his friend 
Count Caylus. M. de Seguier, following up the in- 
genious idea of the Abbe, very satisfactorily ascer- 
tained the inscriptions, and the Maison Carree was 
found to be a temple consecrated to Caius and Mar- 
cius, the adopted sons of Augustus. 

This admired structure rests on a base of cut stone, 
raised a few feet above the ground. The portico is 
supported by ten columns, sixin front and two on each 
side. Twenty others, partly sunk in the wails, run 
around the building. They are fluted with an attic 
base, and Corinthian capitals. These are beautifully 
decorated with olive leaves, instead of the acanthus. 
The architrave, the frieze, the cornice of the sides 
and rear, are richly sculptured, but the entablature 
and pediment of the portico are not so much labour- 
ed. These minute and finished ornaments are crum- 
bling away. The whole is tarnished, and hastening 
to that ruin, which, from its frail and delicate appear- 
ance, we are surprised has not long since overtaken 
it. The people of Nismes, whom the Abbe Barthe- 
lemy accused of barbarism for their neglect ot this 
remain, now glory in the elegance, the symmetry, 
and grace of the Maison Carrie. They were putting 

a new roof on it, while we were there, and employ- 
ing every means to preserve it. 

The fountain of Nismes has been adorned with 
more labour and expense than taste. This copious 
source first fills a large basin of fanciful construction, 
and then flows through a garden set off with vases, 
ancient and modern statues, trees, and shrubbery. 
The stone walls and balustrades which line the basin 
and channels, and a too formal arrangement of the 
garden, might offend the eye by their artificial ap- 
pearance, were it not immediately relieved by the 
steep and cragged rocks, which rise abruptly behind 
it, and by an extensive view of a pleasant and fertile 
country in front. The ruins of the temple of Diana 
on one side of the fountain, and a solitary tower on 
the height, increase the beauty of this charming 

On Christmas morning I went to the Protestant 
church, and in the first service was once more shocked 
by the levity of the people. But the behaviour of 
those who remained to receive the communion, pro- 
duced a very different impression. These formed 
a large proportion of the congregation, five-sixths or 
seven-eighths of whom were women. Before the 
celebration, an old clergyman delivered a familiar 
address, with so much earnestness, with so much sim- 
plicity, and in tones so tender and feeling, his voice 
being choaked almost by the excess of his own emo- 
tions, that he touched the hearts of his hearers; and 
their grief not only showed itself in tears, but even 
broke out in sobs. He then came down from the 
pulpit, and a young clergyman assisted him in ad- 



ministering the elements. The men advanced firs£ r 
in small groups, to the right of the altar, and, en- 
tering the chancel, stood before the table with heads 
humbly inclined. A few words, which I was too far 
off to hear, were addressed to each of them ; and 
after they had received, they gave place to others, 
and passed out to the left. There was great deco- 
rum and reverence in the manner of the communi- 
cants; and almost all, in withdrawing from the table, 
seemed penetrated with the affecting solemnity, and 
returned to their seats in tears. This unexpected 
and edifying spectacle softened, in some degree, 
my harsh opinion of the Protestants of France. In 
Nismes they are very numerous, making up one- 
third of the population. 

As we were leaving the church, our ears were 
assailed by the most importunate cries from a mise- 
rable wretch,, who was exposing the stump of a sore 
arm, to excite the commiseration and charity of 
those who were passing. Such hideous sights are 
not uncommon in France; and sometimes we meet 
with beggars along the streets so shockingly deform- 
ed y that our pity is overpowered by disgust and 

In the afternoon I went to the cathedral. But the 
crowd was so great, and the church so difficult to 
fill, that I lost almost all the sermon, though the 
preacher's voice was loud and distinct. In order to 
hear him better, I had g me up into the gallery among 
the blind and superstitious populace. As soon as he 
had finished, the service was renewed, and I stood 
leaning over the balustrade, observing very atten- 


lively the ceremonies at the altar. Presently the 
host was elevated, and a man cried out behind me, 
" a genoux." I took no notice of it, and appeared not 
to understand him. A moment after he said to me, 
*' It is very unbecoming not to bow the knee at the 
elevation of the host." I made some brief reply, 
which did not seem to soothe him. The crowd cast 
fierce looks at me. I recollected the persecution of 
Nismes, and retreated with precipitation. 

Having no longer the friendly annunciation of Mr. 
Ducerf^ from whom we had finally parted at JMont- 
pellier, we were again taken for Englishmen at the 
table d'hoi^ and subjected to some disagreeable coo- 
sequences from this mistake. Indeed it was not 
merely reserve and incivility that we met with here, 
but raillery and insult. There was something, how- 
ever, so droll in the manner of it, that had my own 
character, or my friend's prudence, permitted us to 
resent it, we would have found it almost impossible. 
A fellow at the head of the table, with a singular 
talent for mimickry, undertook to give an account 
of the travels of Milord Anglais in France. A coarse 
and burlesque story^ in broken French, with a true 
John Bull accent, was narrated so happily, that it 
produced general merriment among the French, and 
scarcely less in ourselves, against whom it was di- 
rected. But I longed for a pleasant revenge, and 
would have given any thing to have had a humour- 
ous friend of mine there, to match him with Mon- 
sieur Tonson. The satirist afterwards discovering 
who we were, and that his wit had lost its point, was 
exceedingly mortified and embarrassed. 


Mr. Pillion, our English companion, perceiving it, 
took shelter from these gibes under the character of 
our compatriot, and talked of our President and our 
affairs like a true American. With a warm and ho- 
nest heart, he had all the stout prejudices which fre- 
quently characterize his countrymen ; and he seemed 
to travel not to remove but to confirm them He was 
a lover of quiet, however, who came, like ourselves, 
in pursuit of health, and not to fight his way through 
a hostile land. In his heart he had such a contempt 
for the French as they might affect towards him, but 
could not feel; still ridicule, where repartee might 
be dangerous, and resentment unavailing was irk- 
some, and therefore he gladly adopted this artifice 
to get rid of it. 


We left Nismes, in company with this gentleman, 
for Avignon. Near Remoulins we got out of our car- 
riage to go to the Pont du Gard, which stands in a 
lonely spot, a mile and a half from the public road. 
It is part of an ancient aqueduct, which formerly con- 
ducted water, from two fountains near Usez, to the 
city of Nismes. It rises in a triple range of arches 
to an immense height, and strides over the river Gar- 
don with the steps of a giant. When we came sud- 
denly in sight of this bold and stupendous monument 
of Roman power, in a place so still and secluded, 
and observed the great masses of stone with which it 


is built, piled upon each other without cramp or 
cement, the bold sweep of the arches, the towering 
height, the eating and rust of time preying upon it 
for so many ages, and yet a strength so unbroken as 
seemed to defy its power, we were impressed beyond 
measure by its solitary grandeur. We clambered up 
the side of the mountain against which one end of 
the aqueduct rests, and passed along the conduit 
where our footing was firm, but where the covering 
had fallen, and the walls had gone to decay. For a 
few paces we proceeded on this exposed and narrow 
path with some trepidation, but we soon gained the 
covered part, and walked in safety. In the whole 
length of the conduit, which is about eight hundred 
feet, there are apertures, at small distances, to give 
light to repair it when it was out of order. We got 
through one of them, on the very top of the aqueduct^ 
and walked along till we were directly over the mid- 
dle of the river. The passage was eleven feet wide, 
and the height above the water one hundred and sixty 
feet, without a single break to relieve the eye. The 
country immediately around was wild, and the point 
from which we viewed it made it sublime. The 
banks of the Gardon rose to a kind of mountainous 
grandeur. Behind us the river was soon lost in its 
windings, but before it was flowing for some distance 
through a more level and cultivated country ; and 
quite in remote perspective we could perceive the 
mountains of Cevennes. 



Towards evening we drew near to Avignon. It is 
situated on the eastern bank of the Rhone, and rises, 
with an easy ascent, considerably above the river. 
The regular battlements of the walls with which the 
city is surrounded, the square towers which defend 
them at all points, and the antique churches, with 
their steeples appearing in vast masses above them, 
make the view of Avignon, as we approach it, 
very imposing ; and the effect of it is increased by 
the rapid stream of waters which passes beneath, the 
broken and hilly grounds on the western bank of the 
river, and by the scene being caught in glimpses 
through the trees and in the turns and undulations 
of the road. 

The interiour of the city does not fulfil all that this 
view promises. The streets are without any plan, 
but less crooked and cramped than in several places 
through .which we had lately passed We employed 
a good deal of time here in hunting after curiosities, 
which our itinerary pointed out to the traveller, but 
which perpetually eluded our search. 

The palace of the Popes, during their residence 
at Avignon, still remains. It is a lofty and irregular 
pile, surmounted by towers, and looks more like a 
place of strength, built by some warlike chieftain, 
in a turbulent age, than the abode of the ministers 
of peace. Part of it is now occupied as a prison ; 
the rest is suffered to go to ruin. When we visited 


it on Sunday, the populace were amusing themselves 
in the inner court with a bear fight. 

The Metropolitan church, a few paces from the 
palace, is despoiled and forsaken. We were here 
shown the chapel of the Popes, that of Charlemagne, 
and the tomb of John XXII. 

The body of the fair Laura, so celebrated by the 
love and sonnets of Petrarch, was interred in the 
ancient church of the Cordeliers; but this church 
suffered so much from the French revolution, that 
her remains, together with those of the brave Crillon, 
were, in consequence, removed elsewhere. Our 
guide assured us that the body of Laura had been 
transferred here, and pointed out the very niche 
in which it was deposited. We were afterwards 
conducted, upon better information, to a private 
garden, where it was said these interesting relicks 
had really been conveyed. Two young cypresses, 
one at the head, and the other at the foot, were the 
only memorials of this doubtful grave. 

In the Maison des Insensees we saw some good 
paintings by Mignard and Puget, and an admirable 
crucifixion, in ivory, by Guillarmin. The sufferings 
of our Lord appeared in the swell of the muscles, 
in the contraction of the hands and feet, in the ex- 
pression of agony in his eyes, his countenance, and 
every part of his frame. But with all this strength 
there was no violent and unnatural distortion. His 
anguish was softened by a patience and resignation 
becoming the dignity of the Lamb of God. 

In this brief and imperfect account of Avignon, I 
ought not to forget a delightful view from the Rocker 


de Don, an eminence above the cathedral, of the 
city under our feet, a luxuriant and populous vale, 
the rapid Rhone, interrupted in its course by seve- 
ral islands, and the Durance diverging from it, an 
extensive range of snow-capped mountains on one 
side, and a dark semicircular sweep on the other: 
forming altogether a rich and magnificent landscape. 
Nor ought I ? perhaps, to omit another extraordinary 
sight, the prettiest woman I had seen in France, 
fantastically dressed in loose trovvsers and laced 
boots, and mounted on horseback a la mode dcs 


On the following day I went out, through a violent 
and piercing wind, to see the fountain of Vaucluse. 
The road passes over a beautiful plain, which is co- 
vered with a population proportioned to its fertility. 
But the, excessive cold which penetrated my whole 
frame, and the snow which I saw on the mountains 
of Dauphiny before me, scarcely permitted me to 
enjoy the scene. At ten miles from Avignon I 
reached the rocky and narrow passage through which 
the Sorgne flows, whose waters all gush from the 
fountain of Vaucluse. It is a small stream, though 
dignified with the name of a river, but so clear and 
transparent that I could plainly see at the bottom the 
green weeds and plants that overspread its bed. The 
hills on one side are partially covered with olive trees 


and grain ; on the other, they are dreary, naked, and 
barren. As I drew nearer to the fountain, the river 
became more rapid and noisy, and the rocks more 
varied and grotesque. On a lofty point to the right, 
which seemed inaccessible, were the ruins of the 
house once inhabited by the Archbishop of the pro- 
vince, and below, a small hamlet on the margin of 
the stream. All these objects received an additional 
charm, from the recollection that this was the fa- 
vourite haunt of Petrarch and Laura. I went into 
the garden which she had cultivated with her own 
hands, but it had now no other attraction than her 
name gave it. 

A little higher up is the fountain itself. It is si- 
tuated at the foot of a rock, which rises perpendicu- 
larly 600 feet, and covers the bottom of a large vaulted 
grotto. When I saw it the waters were remarkably 
low, and instead of coming in a torrent from the 
mouth, they oozed out, at a distance from the source, 
in numberless rills, through the earth and crevices of 
the rocks. Notwithstanding this unfavourable cir- 
cumstance, and the coldness and desolation of win- 
ter, it was still very interesting ; but, in the spring, 
when it rises and rushes in one mass over the barrier 
which confined it, bounding and foaming in its im- 
petuous course, it must be enchanting. After such 
a feast for my eyes, 1 had a dinner of trout caught 
in the waters which flow from the fountain. 



We left Avignon on the 30th, and just before night 
reached the elevation on the road which commands 
so noble a view of Marseilles. It is more than half 
encircled by mountains, rising abruptly and grandly 
around it ; the slopes at their feet are brightened with 
innumerable country houses, which thicken as they 
descend to the suburbs, and are at length confounded 
with the city ; and the gulf spreads out majestically 
beyond it. 

It was dark before we entered Marseilles. The 
long line of lamps suspended over our heads, the ex- 
traordinary height and regularity of the houses, and 
the breadth of the streets, gave it an air of splendour 
and consequence, which it did not lose in the light 
of day. Order and beauty prevail in every part of 
the new town, and we walk in it with ease and 
freedom. Excepting the flat roofs, and the more 
cheerful* appearance of the houses, there is nothing 
remarkable in them individually; but their loftiness, 
their uniformity, and their extent in direct lines, pro- 
duce a great degree of elegance in the general com- 
bination. The streets, for the most part, intersect 
each other at right angles, and some of them are 
much more open and spacious than any I have seen 
in France. They are well paved in the middle with 
flat square stones, and the side walks with small 
bricks, which are pressed so compactly together (their 
edges being turned upwards), that they are scarcely 


ever uneven or out of place. The grand quay, where 
all the vessels land their cargoes, is paved in the 
same neat way, and that part of the city which is 
commonly so noisome and unpleasant, is here a 
beautiful public walk. It forms three sides of an im* 
mense square, faced by stores and warehouses. The 
basin is crowded with vessels; we see the colours 
of almost all nations; we meet Greeks, if not barbari* 
ans, and hear so many different -people speaking in 
their own tongues. It is always a lively and bustling 
scene, and there is the same difficulty <in jostling 
through the crowd, which assembles on week days 
for business, or the multitudes who throng it on Sun- 
days for pleasure. Back of the quay of St. Nicholas 
a steep path leads to a promenade on a high terrace 
formed out of the rock, from which there is a full and 
charming view of the city, the rural environs, the 
rugged mountains behind them, the harbour, the isle 
d'lf, and the sea beyond it. The fort de Notre Dame 
de la Garde is at a considerable elevation above the 
terrace. An oratory is built on the way, to give an 
opportunity to those who come to enjoy the prospect 
for an hasty act of devotion. 

The Course^ a long wide street, is a more frequented 
and fashionable walk. In one part of it, a great 
number of women are ranged on each side, with 
flowers and fruits for sale. 

The Allees de Meilhan, which run from the Course 
towards the suburbs, have the advantage of shade 
and retirement. We took a turn in them on a festi- 
val, and found a great display of the beau monde there. 
The ladies were all showing themselves in their best 


attire, according to the custom of the Carnival, and 
courting admiration by their elegance and vivacity. 

The common people were amusing themselves in 
a different way. They were collected together before 
a temporary stage, to attend a kind of theatrical ex- 
hibition, and every few moments, the droll grimace 
and coarse buffoonery of the actors were followed by 
bursts of laughter and applause. 

A stranger can have no conception of the many 
methods that are contrived to divert the levity of this 
thoughtless people. We have seen, more than once, 
under our window, a company of dancing dogs, 
tricked off in female dress, and coaxed and whipped 
into a curious jig. Scarcely is dinner served up at 
a table d'hote before we are saluted by the sound of 
a violin or guitar, or by the voice of some female 
singer, and immediately after a small contribution is 
levied on each person present, which is generally 
paid with cheerfulness. At one time our attention 
will be called from our plate, to feats of agility ; at 
another, a dwarf will enter, to give us an account of 
his age, of the place of his nativity, of the great per- 
sonages who have seen him, and not only admired 
his diminutive form, but the justness of his propor- 

The number of agreeable acquaintances I formed 
here, in consequence of my letters, would have made 
the time pass very pleasantly, had not a slight return 
of my cough, and some pain in the breast, renewed 
my uneasiness. They were brought on again by too 
much exposure to the mistral, which had been blow- 
ing almost constantly from the time we left Mont- 


pellier till we arrived at Marseilles. This cold and 
piercing north-west wind is dreaded not only by in- 
valids, but shunned even by those who are well. 

From the state of the weather, and the necessity 
I was under of attending to my health, I was not able 
to examine the public buildings, the literary and 
benevolent institutions, and many curious and inter- 
esting objects, except in a very partial and hasty 

After remaining about a week at Marseilles, we 
proceeded to Toulon. We set out in the Diligence 
at a very early hour in the morning, and from some 
mismanagement were compelled to take seats in the 
cabriolet. The air was so sharp and penetrating, 
that it was scarcely possible to be occupied with any 
thing but ourselves. Excepting the savage and sub- 
lime pass of Ollioules, which forced itself upon our 
attention, the journey to Toulon was a blank. 


The upper or old part of the town is irregular, but 
the new part below is neat, airy, and well built. The 
fine capacious harbour, and great maritime arsenal, 
however, are the chief distinctions of the place. 

The next day we hired a boat, and sailed out into 
the bay. Behind the city there is a range of gray 
and sandy mountains, and on their sides two forts 
that were erected by the English, to command the 


town. The hills fall in an easy declivity to the right 
and left, putting on a green and smiling appearance, 
and delighting the eye by their variety and beauty. 
Opposite to the city they appear to meet, and to leave 
no outlet to the harbour. Near this extremity two 
high and pointed rocks rise abruptly out of the water, 
and from their insulated situation, and, at the same 
time, their neighbourhood, are denominated the Bro- 
thers. The day was fine, the prospect gay and ani- 
mated, and the breeze mild and warm as the breath 
of spring, though we were in the depth of winter. 
Indeed, the strong contrast, and undulating surface of 
the hills, the country seats scattered over them, the 
freshness and verdure of the fields, the pleasant face 
of the City, the ships of war lying in the port, the 
beautiful form and sheltered appearance of the har- 
bour, made such a group of objects as seldom en- 
ter into the pictures either of nature or fancy. 

We staid but one day at Toulon, and on the 9th. 
reached a paltry village, called Vidauban, where, 
much against our will, we were obliged to remain 
two. The only carriage in the village belonged to 
the Post-Master, who, determining to profit by this 
circumstance, demanded fifty francs for a distance of 
fifteen miles. Rather than satisfy his rapacity, we 
chose to put ourselves to some inconvenience. Ac- 
cordingly we hired a couple of mules and a waggon, 
to take our baggage to Frejus. But the Post Master 
was as much on the alert to defeat our plans as we 
were to frustrate his. He had his emissaries abroad, 
who watched all our movements, and having law on 
his side to aid his injustice, we found all our resources 


unequal to his address and power. He threatened 
the man, it appears, of whom we had hired the 
waggon and mules, with the penalties denounced 
against those who let them out without a licence from 
government ; and the poor fellow, more alarmed by 
his menaces than allured by our offers, returned us 
our earnest money. The same difficulties occurring 
wherever we applied, we went to the Mayor, and 
made a representation of the Post-Master's conduct. 
He took upon himself the trouble of seeing this im- 
portant personage, and succeeded in making such an 
arrangement for us, as did not altogether meet our 
views, but lessened our humiliation. The recollec- 
tion of this affair is amusing, though at the time it was 
a serious vexation. 


Jan. 10th. We reached Frejus to-day, and took 
more pains in viewing the antiquities of the place 
than they were worth. This port, which was so ex- 
tensive in the age of Augustus, is now an insignifi- 
cant plaee r containing only about two thousand in- 
habitants. It has derived no small degree of conse- 
quence from incidental circumstances, both in for- 
mer and latter times* Here Agricola was born, 
wbom Tacitus has immortalized. Here the fleet of 
Anthony was sent after the battle of Actium. Here 
Bonaparte landed on his return from Egypt, and 
here he embarked for the island of Elba. 


On the following day we hired an open row-boat 
to take us to Nice. Near the place where we set 
out we saw a number of young persons and children 
carrying baskets of sand, to mend the road, who 
were working cheerfully and merrily for eight, and 
even four, sous a day. 

The weather was soft and delightful, and the 
towns, the villages, the changing aspect of the coast, 
made the sail remarkably pleasant. We passed 
Cannes, where Bonaparte landed on his escape 
from Elba, and the isle of Marguerite, where the 
man in the iron mask was for some time imprisoned. 

It was long after dark before we got to Nice. The 
port was closed, and though we were already tho- 
roughly chilled by the cold and piercing air of the 
evening, we had reason to fear that we should have 
to remain in an open boat all night ; but after much 
grumbling and hesitation on the part of the sentry, 
in order to enhance the value of his services, we 
prevailed on him to go for the commandant. The 
officer permitted us to go on shore, and, while he 
was examining the bills of health which we had got 
at Frejus, I stepped towards him to make some ex- 
planation. He started back from me with uplifted 
hands, as if I had been smitten with the plague. It 
seemed obtrusive to approach him till the papers 
were read. 

From the appearance of Nice, the lateness of the 
hour, and the apprehensions we suffered, our en- 
trance into Italy was not unlike our landing in 



Nice is situated on a plain at the foot of the mari- 
time Alps, which shelter it on the north from the 
wintry winds, and circling around to the east, run 
boldly and grandly into the sea. The river Paglion 
separates the city from the rural suburb, a long 
street called the Croix de Marbre, and chiefly occupi- 
ed by strangers. The modern part of Nice is laid 
out with regularity. The public squares, and several 
of the streets, are neat and handsome. The port is 
defended by a fort that serves also as a mole, and 
though it is small, and filled almost entirely with craft, 
there is water enough for vessels of considerable bur- 
den. A high and solitary hill, covered with the 
ruins of the ancient fortress, rises steeply on one side, 
presenting towards the sea a huge pile of perpendi- 
cular rock. A short causeway, connecting the port 
with the other part of the city, runs in front of this 
high wall, and, in leaning over the parapet, we see 
the waves breaking furiously amongst the rocks, and 
rushing, with the noise of thunder, into the cavities 
beneath. Continuing along the path, we soon come 
to one of the most agreeable walks in the world. A 
row of houses, a quarter of a mile in length, border- 
ing the sea, and sometimes sprinkled with its spray, 
are built of an equal height, with flat roofs. These 
being covered with stucco, form a broad and noble 
terrace, where strangers and natives meet together, to 
enjoy the sublime view of the deep ; the glimpses of 




the mountains on each side, which it stops in their 
course ■; the softer beauties of the plain that skirts the 
shores towards the river Var; and the mild breezes 
of the south, which, to the valetudinarian, are more 
delightful than all. 

It is not surprising then, that this place should have 
acquired so much reputation, and become the favour- 
ite resort of those who are looking for health, as well 
as of many who are only in pursuit of pleasure. Na- 
ture has prodigally lavished her glories and charms 
around it, and blessed it with a climate so equal and 
temperate, as almost to change the order of the sea- 
sons, and turn the rigours of winter into the genial- 
warmth of spring. My time passed away there ra- 
pidly, and was full of occupation and enjoyment. 
In the morning we had our Italian teacher, and in 
the evening the French. In the middle of the day 
we either took a few turns on the terrace, or made 
a pleasant excursion on horseback to Villa Franca ? 
along the windings of the shore to the river Var, in 
the valley towards Turin, or on the mountainous road 
to Genoa. Sometimes we were accompanied in our 
rambles by two of our compatriots, Mr. Rogers, of 
Baltimore, and Mr. Cox, of Philadelphia. The so- 
ciety of these amiable and estimable men relieved 
the solitude which might have been felt in the ab- 
sence of all our countrymen and friends, and I can 
hardly say, that 1 had an uneasy or irksome hour, 
except from my anxiety for the slow recovery, or 
rather increased indisposition of Mr. Hands. Om 
lodgings were in the Hotel de Yorck, but we enjoyed 
all the stilLness and seclusion of a private house, and 

NICE, 67 

lived with so much comfort, regularity, and temper- 
ance, as enabled us to make a thorough trial of 
what climate and regimen could do towards restor- 
ing our health. My own improved surprisingly, and 
I felt that the climate and other helping causes were 
almost working a miracle in me. Could 1 have seen 
the same change in my friend, my joy would have 
been complete. 

During our stay at Nice, which was about a month, 
the weather was uniformly pleasant, with the excep- 
tion of one rainy day and part of another. The air 
is at times a little too elastic and bracing, producing 
in consumptive persons a tightness of the chest, and 
a slight difficulty in breathing. Occasionally too, 
though very rarely, the winds are somewhat raw and 
blustering. But it is incomparably milder and better 
than any climate I have ever tried. The invalid 
must not expose himself to the morning nor evening 
air. His recreations and exercise should all be em- 
braced between the hours of ten and four. Then he 
will generally find a cheering and salutary warmth. 
I rode out in the valley, where, in many places, the 
sun merely enters and disappears, over the open 
plain, and upon the mountains, without ever using 
a surtout. There was no frost nor ice in the city or 
immediate environs. The hedges were putting forth 
their leaves ; the almond trees were in blossom ; 
the orange and lemon groves were loaded with 
fruits; and vegetables are almost perennial. In the 
end of January we were eating green peas. 

A few days before our departure we walked out on 
the road to Genoa, which is one of the monuments 

68 JN1CE. 

of the greatness and ambition of a man whose ener- 
gies were too often exerted in works of destruction, 
but were sometimes also directed to objects of utility 
and real glory. This road commences at the foot of 
the mountains which rise on the east of Nice, and 
winds up their sides to their summits. It is supported 
on the outer part by a solid wall of stone, differing 
in height according to the varying surface of the 
ground. Sometimes it is entirely cut out of the hills, 
and at others through large masses of rock. We had 
gone up, a short time before, on horseback, till we 
supposed we were about a thousand feet above the 
valley. In several places the descent is rapid and 
frightful, but in general the eye meets, at intervals, 
with clumps of trees, or spots of cultivation, which 
break the steepness of the precipice. Now, as we 
mounted up at our leisure, warmed by the rays al- 
most of a summer's sun, in the bleak and desolate 
month of February, we saw wild flowers scattered 
about us, and trees in full blossom. At every turn 
the view improved, and at length we reached a high 
and commanding point, where it was enchanting. 
A narrow vale, divided into a multitude of gardens, 
pleasingly arranged, and without much art, laid far 
below us. Alternate rows of wheat, with the beds 
of vegetables, and a profusion of orange and lemon 
trees, made them appear as fresh and verdant as in 
mid-summer. The houses, which are remarkably 
neat, and often painted in a fanciful manner, with a 
village church and two white convents, formed a 
suitable accompaniment to a spot so smiling. From 
the foot of the mountains, in which this valley is 

nice. 69 

embosomeel, to the very top, their steep and rugged 
sides have, in many places, been subdued and fer- 
tilized by patient and hard labour; and one level 
strip, supported by stone walls, or a sodded bank, 
rises above another, in regular gradation, like a hang- 
ing garden. In other places precipitous rocks, deep 
ridges, formed by the mountain torrents, the pine 
and other evergreens, and a rough and unkind soil, 
have made them retain all their original wildness. 
Houses are perched up on lofty heights, to which we 
see no path, and persons are at work where one 
would be afraid of giddiness. These objects, imme- 
diately around and below us, so diversified in their 
general features, and in the slighter shades of the 
olive, the evergreen, the orange groves, and the 
bright bloom of the almond trees, were only the fore 
ground of the picture. Over the mountains to the 
right arose the loftier tops of others. Nice appeared 
before us as in a map; the hill which parts it and the 
old fortress looked more interesting, and the restless 
and immeasurable sea closed this beautiful and glo- 
rious prospect. 

It was an inexpressible satisfaction to us, while we 
remained here, to be able to attend (at the country- 
seat of an English gentleman) the service of our own 
church. How strong is the common bond of faith, 
and how intimate the communion of those whom it 
" knits together." When we united with these bre- 
thren of the same household, who all knelt on the 
floor with profound reverence, and whose devotion 
seemed to be inflamed by a grateful sense of the pri- 
vilege they were enjoying, we felt the whole power 

70 NICE, 

of these ties, and the intensity with which the soul 
is sometimes capable of worshipping God. 

The service was read with a propriety of manner 
that gave to every part a due effect, and with a holy 
fervour that warmed the heart. The sermons were 
written in a simple, chaste, and manly style. They 
were edifying in the matter, sound in doctrine, prac- 
tical in their tendency, and delivered earnestly and 
impressively, though without gesture. 

Mr, Proctor, the clergyman, hearing that a stran- 
ger of his own profession and communion was in 
town, politely called on me. I found him a very 
intelligent and agreeable man, whose conversation 
and manners had more of frankness, cordiality, and 
warmth, than are generally shown by his country- 
men on a slight intimacy with strangers. He asked 
me to preach for him, but the state of my health 
induced me to decline. It is somewhat remarkable 
that he made no inquiries about the Episcopal 
Church in this country, and listened with much ap- 
parent indifference to the accounts which 1 gratuit- 
ously gave him. 

The Hotel de Yorck was large and commodious, 
but neither fashionable nor expensive. Indeed, we 
never got so much comfort, in any part of our route, 
at so cheap a rate. We had two well furnished apart- 
ments, one of which was quite spacious, and the 
other convenient, and breakfast and dinner served 
up in our own room, for ten francs a day, or less than 
a dollar a piece. 



We left Nice, without a very encouraging prospect, 
in a small felucca. The day was fine, and the snowy 
tops of the Alps, faintly touched by the rays of the 
morning, appeared like 

" The blushing discontented sun, 
" When the envious clouds are bent, 
*' To dim his glory." 

But in a short time sea sickness coming on, the 
beauties of nature faded before me, and I could ob- 
serve nothing with care, till we landed at Monaco. 
Here we were detained four days by contrary winds. 
The views around us were suited to the lovers of 
nature, under her harsher forms. Monaco is built 
on a high and almost insulated rock, and, with the 
lofty walls which girdle it, covered in many places 
with creeping ivy, its battlements, watch-towers, and 
draw-bridge, looks like one of the fabled fortresses of 
romance. The rock is in general steep, and in some 
parts almost perpendicular, and excepting on the 
north-west, where it is connected by a low and nar- 
row neck of land with the main, the waves of the 
Mediterranean dash and foam everlastingly around 

The inhabitants of this little kingdom appeared 
wretchedly poor,* yet the prince keeps up the state 

* When we first arrived, our landlord was not able to get us a dinner 
till we furnished him with money, 

72 Voyage to lerici, 

and parade of a court. He is in a singular situation, 
for though his dominions form a part of the territories 
of the king of Sardinia, he is at the same time a peer 
of France. 

Feb. 16th. A light breeze springing up to-day, 
we at length set sail, and proceeded slowly along 
the coast. It is lined by mountains, which are the 
extremities of the smaller branches of the great range 
of the maritime Alps. Their gray and naked sides 
do not appear as if they could furnish nourishment 
for the multitudes who inhabit them. We could 
frequently take in, at a single view, ten or twelve 
sprightly villages and towns, some of which were 
large and populous, and most, of them strikingly situ- 
ated, in the sheltered recess of a mountain, on the 
summit of a sloping hill, or in the inmost depths of 
a bay. Small barques and vessels, keeping closely 
and timorously towards the land, were seen in all 
directions. The coast, faced with precipices, broken 
with inlets, and projecting in sudden bluffs and bol- 
der promontories, shifted the scene every moment, 
and amused us continually with new prospects. 

Near Savone a high and jutting rock, with a plea- 
sant country house on the southern side of it, and 
another enormous mass below, still more lofty and 
cragged, extending about the same distance into the 
sea, enclose between them a beautiful and regular 
cove. We passed by it, at an early hour of a lovely 
morning. A number of men and women were busily 
engaged on the beach in drawing their nets. At 
the same moment a party on mules, who had just 
come out of a gallery, pierced through the lower 


promontory, appeared on the cliffs above, which over- 
hang the sea, and were carefully descending the 
giddy road which runs along their border. As soon 
as we had got by this point, the deep and extensive 
harbour of Savone opened upon us ; and, in looking 
back, we could see on high the lower outlet of the 
gallery. The passage cut through the solid rock is 
200 feet long, and wide and high enough to admit 
carriages. This is one of the common, but daring 
efforts of Bonaparte. The road from Genoa stopped 
here, like all the other undertakings of that extraor- 
dinary man, when it lost the energy of his mighty 
arm ; and there is neither the spirit nor ability in 
the present powers to complete what he began. 

It was not our intention to land at Genoa. I begged 
the man at the helm to wake me, if we should pass 
it in the night. We did so about twelve o'clock, but 
though the full moon was shining, we were not near 
enough to see it distinctly. The wind, however, dying 
away, we had an opportunity of viewing this cele- 
brated city by day-light. The beautiful and capa- 
cious harbour, the white buildings rising above each 
other, like the seats of an amphitheatre, and the walls 
running in irregular lines over the barren hills above 
it, together with the populous and long extended 
suburbs to the south, certainly form an extraordinary 
spectacle. But perhaps it was owing to the distance 
from which we surveyed it, that it appeared less 
splendid than I had expected. 

Feb. 19th. A pleasant breeze brought us this 
evening to the lower promontory, which terminates 
the Gulf of Genoa. On the northern side of it, in 



a place so steep as to appear almost inaccessibly 
there is a small country seat, surrounded by a gar- 
den, of which we can only see the fruit trees and 
evergreens that shoot above the wall. From the 
west end of this strange retreat a ledge of rocks runs 
down into the sea, and, with the point below, shuts 
up a smooth and peaceful basin. The sun had just 
set, and amidst the broken and stupendous objects 
before us, evening was disposing of the light and 
shade with a magical effect. Before we got by, the 
broad side of this projecting mountain was wrapt in 
gloom, and, hiding the brightness of the moon, which 
had just risen, it threw over the basin below its own 
darkness and obscurity, while all was cheerful be- 
yond it. But when the moon rose above, it came 
forth with such purity, and cast such a lustre over the 
heavens, and all things on which it shone, that it 
fully justified whatever has been said of the beauty 
ef an Italian sky. 

Presently we came under the lofty precipice^ 
which for many miles borders the sea. This part of 
the coaet presents itself in a thousand striking and 
fanciful forms. At times a huge fragment, rent asun- 
der from the rest of the pile, would admit the light 
through the fissure. At others the rocks, which we 
almost touched with our oars, rose up with amazing 
grandeur, and seemed suspended over our heads. 
Frequently they would fall back in rugged inlets, 
whose deep bosom, overshadowed by the surround- 
ing mountains, formed a fine contrast with the waves, 
glittering in the moon-beams without. In one of 
tbese we saw a hermitage at the foot of a tremendous 


ravine, and the chapel belonging to it was lighted 
up as we passed. The seclusion of the place, shut 
cut as it were from the rest of the worlds tifoe silence, 
interrupted only by the dashing «nd roaring «of the 
waters, and the majesty of every thing around, made 
this spot a fit abode for a solitary, who wished only 
to hold communion with the world to come, and 
might have almost inspired devotion in a heart thai 
it had never touched. 

But more commonly the coast presented a high 
and "massive wall, towering many hundred feet above 
the sea, irregular and broken at the top like the ru- 
inous fortifications of a fallen city. The edges of 
these mountains were generally naked and abrupt, 
but occasionally covered with trees, and for ever 
changing their outline and appearance. Now and 
then some artificial object was seen on them, a sum- 
mer-house, a telegraph, or an ancient tower appear- 
ing still higher than it really w 7 as from the angle at 
which we viewed it. It was interesting also to ob- 
serve the cavities below, which time and the cease- 
less motion of the waters had eaten out of the rocks. 

As we came near to Porto Fino the mountains sunk 
for a short distance into a plain, but still at a great 
height above the sea. Here, on the very outskirt of 
the precipice, there is a church, which, in the light 
of the moon, appeared to be of the purest white, 
and which, to an imagination delighted with every 
thing around, seemed also to be singularly beautiful. 
At length we reached the point, crowned on high with 
a little oratory, which put an end to this enrapturing 
prospect. The evening was so mild and so serenely 


bright, the sea so unruffled, the objects which adorn- 
ed the coast so picturesque, and the whole scene so 
full of loveliness, and, at the same time, of wildness 
and sublimity, that I never felt so much the power 
of nature, for I had never seen her under an aspect 
so impressive. 


On the 21st of February we landed at Lerici, in 
the Gulf of Spezzia. We remained no longer at 
this insignificant port, where nothing could be seen 
but poverty and decay, than was necessary for pass- 
ing through the formalities of the Custom-House. 
We were glad to find, at Sarzana, a decent table 
and comfortable beds, after the indifferent fare and 
worse accommodations of our felucca. W 7 e were the 
only passengers, but the cabin was a confined and 
miserable hole, where even two persons could not be 
much at their ease. My mattress was little more 
than a folded sail, and the ropes which passed under 
my body, in different directions, would have made 
me uneasy, had not my attention been diverted from 
this inconvenience by the biting and scampering of 
myriads of fleas. W 7 e were nine days in coming 
from Nice to Lerici, a distance of a hundred and 
fifty miles, five nights of which we slept on board of 
the felucca. But the soft and delightful weather, and 
the succession of romantic prospects, beguiled our 


time, and made us patient and contented. Indeed 
our cold fare, or the coarse cookery of the sailors, 
eggs beaten up for milk, and wooden spoons and 
dishes, were even amusing by their novelty. 

Sarzana is an ancient but inconsiderable city. 
Three centuries ago it was given in exchange to the 
Genoese, by the Grand Duke of Tuscany, for Leg- 
horn, which was then a small village, but has now T 
become the most flourishing port in Italy. 

On the following day we left this place, and tra- 
velled through a rich and agreeable country. 

At the distance of twelve miles from Sarzana, we 
passed by Massa, which is charmingly situated on 
the side of a hill. The famous marble quarries of 
Carrara are in the immediate neighbourhood of this 
city. But we could not go to see them, without run- 
ning the risk of a most inconvenient delay. For the 
rains had so swelled the streams, that we already 
found great difficulty in crossing them, and we were 
fearful that they might soon become impassable. 

We stopped at Pietra Santa to dine, and remained 
there till the next day. In the afternoon we visited 
one of the churches during vespers. When the ser- 
vice was over, the children and young people col- 
lected together near the grand altar, and seated them- 
selves in a circle. A priest in the centre went around 
to them severally, and catechised them both in the 
way of interrogation and familiar instruction. A mul- 
titude of their friends remained to encourage them 
by their presence, and to enjoy the interesting spec- 
tacle. There was an eagerness and pleasure on the 
part of the pastor, the children, and attendants, not 


often seen among those who, laying a better founda- 
tion of doctrine and practice, ought to be animated 
with a more active and ardent zeal. 

We were struck by a peculiarity in the costume of 
the females. A square white muslin handkerchief 
doubled, was thrown over their heads, and hung 
loosely upon their shoulders, producing a very grace- 
ful and pleasing effect. 

Feb. 23d. The road, for a considerable distance 
from Pietra Santa, passed over a sandy plain, with 
an extensive forest on the side toward the sea. The 
fields on the other were secured by a rail fence, the 
first enclosure of the kind we had seen since we left 
home. The soil improved as we drew nearer to Pisa, 
and, in the immediate neighbourhood of the city, it 
indicated extraordinary strength and the most labo- 
rious cultivation. While we were yet far off, the 
leaning tower and the domes of the cathedral and 
baptistery rose up before us. Intending to re-visit 
Pisa on our way to Florence, we merely glanced at 
them, and hurried on the next morning to Leghorn. 


This city, though of early origin, is indebted for its 
present consequence to the commercial prosperity of 
later times. The private dwellings are neat and com- 
modious, and the streets wide, straight, and paved 
with smooth flat stones, but there are scarcely any 


splendid edifices, or public monuments, to associate 
it with the decayed magnificence of the other great 
cities of Italy. To a lover of the real comfort and 
happiness of men, however, the noise and bustle in 
the streets of Leghorn, the number of ships in the 
harbour, and the many appearances of an active 
and flourishing trade, would perhaps be more grati- 
fying than the remains of former glory. 

A mole of nearly 2000 feet in length, protects the 
vessels in port from the violence of the winds and 
waves. As there is not a sufficient depth of water 
for ships of a large burden, they lie off at some dis- 
tance from the mole. The statue of Ferdinand I. 
on the quay, and the four Turkish slaves in chains at 
the corners of the pedestal, marked with the sullen- 
ness and dejection of bondage, are spoken of with 
greater admiration than they appeared to us to de- 
serve, from the hasty look we gave them in passing. 

All that is curious may be quickly seen at Leg- 
horn, but some arrangements for the prosecution of 
our journey, and the civilities of three or four gentle- 
men to whom we had letters, kept us here several 
days. The English chaplain, Mr. Hall, was formerly 
of Philadelphia. His kindness and cordiality towards 
us showed that the change of his political relations 
had by no means extinguished the love of his coun- 

We returned to Pisa by the same route, through a 
dull succession of meadows, intersected by numerous 
canals. At almost every hamlet or cottage that we 
passed, the little children ran out and thrust a bunch 
of violets into our carriage, in the hope of getting for 

80 pisa. 

this nosegay some trifling present. This delicate 
and silent solicitation would undoubtedly succeed 
with most strangers, if it were not so frequent as to 
become troublesome. 


The Arno passes through this city in a slight bend. 
The yellow and turbid waters do not correspond with 
the imagined freshness and purity of this poetical 
stream. Three bridges are thrown across it, one of 
which is faced with marble. The quays on both 
sides being wide and smooth, and the houses having 
a gay and sprightly appearance, the promenade along 
the Arno is pleasant and inviting. It is especially so 
in winter, when, besides the advantage of being shel- 
tered from the winds, it is also warmed by the pow- 
erful reflection of the sun's rays from the adjoining 
buildings. But the last circumstance must render 
it proportionally disagreeable in summer, as there 
are no trees to intercept this concentration of heat, 
nor to fan the air by the waving of their branches. 
This is the only part of the city where there is any 
thing like animation ; but here the numerous groups 
that throng these walks on foot, and the carriages 
drawn furiously along by spirited horses, with long 
flowing tails and manes, form a singular contrast with 
the dulness and inactivity of other streets, and make 
the Lung' Arno quite as lively and bustling a scene 

MSA. 81 

as is to be found in many a metropolis more flourish- 
ing and crowded. There is an air of neatness and 
elegance in the other parts of the city, which bespeak 
the opulence and power of Pisa in the days of the 
republic, but accompanied with a sullenness and 
desertion that remind us still more strongly of its 
present poverty and decay. The streets are broader, 
more regular, and better paved, than in most conti- 
nental cities; and, what is rather uncommon, they 
are furnished with side-walks. 

The cathedral stands at the north-east extremity 
of the city. It is in a corrupted style of Grecian archi- 
tecture, with a tew scattered traces of the Gothic, 
The bronze doors in the west end are covered with 
basso relievos. In the same front there are five rows 
of semicircular arches, rising above each other, and 
supported by half pillars of different colours; some of 
which are plain, others wreathed with spiral lines ? 
or decoraled with fanciful figures. Similar ranks of 
arches run along the sides of the church, and around 
the dome. The last are surmounted by pediments, 
pinnacles, and statues. Notwithstanding the costli- 
ness of the ornaments, and the vast dimensions of 
the building, the cathedral cannot be considered as 
a stately fabric. There is an utter want of simplicity 
in the details, and of boldness in the general design. 
The interiour is still more splendid Find dazzling. 
The roof of the nave is lined with gilded pinnel work. 
The floor is paved with mosaics and variegated mar- 
bles. The walls are covered with pictures. The 
pulpit, the chancel, the side altars, are all of precious 
materials, and great beauty. Fifty-two large pillars 


82 Pisa.. 

of dark oriental granite divide the church into five 
aisles, and two rows of the same kind intersect them 
at the arm of the cross. The variety, the gaudiness, 
and laboured elegance of many of the embellish- 
ments, weakened the impression that would have 
been made by the gloomy aisles, the massive co- 
lumns, the loftiness of the nave, and the great out- 
lines of the edifice. 

The belfry, or leaning tower, stands at a short 
distance from the east end of the cathedral. This is 
an hollow column of great diameter, and one hun- 
dred and eighty feet in height. It is divided into eight 
stories; the first of which is encircled by fifteen large 
pillars, sunk in the wall, and supporting as many round 
arches; the next six by open galleries, with a double 
number of columns; and the last by an iron railing. 
There ought to have been grandeur in a work of such 
solidity and magnitude, but it is divided into so many 
minute parts, that it is merely beautiful. 

The leaning tower is very remarkable from the 
circumstance indicated by its name. It inclines 
thirteen feet beyond the perpendicular line. In look- 
ing at it from below, it seems as if it were just ready 
to fall and overwhelm us, and, in ascending, we feel 
as if it were sinking under our feet. 

The idle opinion that this inclination was the re- 
sult of design, in order to show the skill of the archi- 
tect, is now generally rejected. The swampy and 
yielding soil on which the tower is built, will account 
for it much more rationally. 

From the shelving and unguarded top, we had a 
fine view of the city, the course of the Arno, the vast 



and superb monastery of the Carthusians to the east, 
the white tops of the Appenines, and the Mediterra- 
nean sea. 

The baptistery is in a line with the cathedral, at 
the west end. This is a large rot-undo, covered with 
a dome. In the exterior of this edifice, the mixture 
of style and profusion of inappropriate ornaments 
must offend the eye even of the common observer. 
It is deformed within also, by two round galleries, 
resting on pillars, which intercept the view of the 
dome, and destroy its simplicity and proportion. 

To the north of the cathedral is the Campo Santo, 
or cemetery, where the inhabitants of Pisa were 
formerly interred. It is an oblong square of four 
hundred feet in length, and one hundred and fifty in 
breadth. Within there is a broad portico, communi- 
cating with an open court by six Gothic windows, 
and several doors, fashioned with all the lightness 
and grace for which that style is often remarkable. 
The soil, with which it is filled to the depth of ten 
feet, is said to have been brought from the Holy Land, 
in the time of the Crusades. Funeral monuments, 
of various design, partially cover the walls of the 
gallery, ancient sarcophagi are ranged beneath, and 
the pavement is, in a great measure, made up of 
memorials to the departed; some of which are legi- 
ble, and others trodden out and long since effaced. 
These, with many reliques of antiquity, busts, sta- 
tues, and cinerary urns; the fresco paintings of Gi- 
otto, Memmi, and the other early masters of the art, 
which are fading and perishing, are so many tro- 
phies of destruction and death, that force upon the 

84 pisa. 

mind the destiny of man and all his works. The 
cloistered seclusion of the place, the religious style 
of the architecture, the court within covered with 
thick rank grass, and strewed with violets, assist these 
reflections, and lead to thoughtfulness and melan- 
choly I have no where seen any thing so solemn 
and impressive. 

The Campo Santo, the cathedral, belfry, and bap- 
tistery, are all of white marble. They were erected 
in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, and, in the 
lapse of so many ages, have put on a dingy and yel- 
lowish hue. When examined in detail, we may per- 
ceive many deformities and faults, but when viewed 
in general, the group is wonderful and majestic. 

Before leaving Pisa, I went to a conversazione at the 
house of our countrywoman, Mrs. Felicca, to whom I 
had letters. She made many inquiries after her early 
friends, and though her connexions and habits were 
entirely altered by a residence of thirty years in Italy, 
her thoughts still recurred with pleasure to the inti- 
macies and scenes of her youth. 1 regretted that the 
shortness* of my stay here would not allow me to ac- 
cept of the proffered civilities and hospitality of this 
interesting lady. 

We did not remain long enough at Pisa to visit the 
University, and several other objects deserving of our 
attention, r/iuch less to form any opinion of the cli- 
mate, so celebrated for its healing power in pulmo- 
nary complaints. While we were there, the weather 
was mild and pleasant, but from the plain which sur- 
rounds it, extending in a perfect level to the sea, it is 
much more exposed than Nice. The grounds in the 


neighbourhood also, are marshy, and hence it is more 
subject to rains and a damp atmosphere. The tem- 
perature I believe is about the same, and the softness 
of the air, in consequence of this humidity, we were 
told by our physician at Nice, was more favourable 
in consumptive cases, than the cloudless sky, and 
keen and bracing air of that place. 1 learned nothing 
myself of Pisa. My own happy experience has cre- 
ated, perhaps, a too partial fondness for Nice. I can 
scarcely conceive any thing more delightful than this 
climate, where one fair day succeeds another, almost 
without interruption ; where the weather is equal and 
temperate ; where the nights of January, though chilly 
and biting, are without frost, and mid-day is as warm 
as spring; where nothing interferes with regular ex- 
ercise, so essential to invalids ; where winter is seen 
only on the mountains; and leaves, and blossoms, 
and fruits, regale the senses in the valley. It is said, 
however, though this climate be so salutary in the 
beginning of a consumption, it quickens the progress 
of the disease when it is far advanced, and hurries 
the sufferer to the grave. 


March 2d. This morning we left Pisa, and passed 
through a lovely valley. The road sometimes ran 
along a canal, which was as pure and rapid as a 
stream, and occasionally the river Cerchio appeared 

tt6 LUCCA. 

at a distance through the trees. The hills on each 
side were cultivated to their tops in terraces, or co- 
vered with groves of pine and the slender and tower- 
ing cypress, or brightened by towns and villas. The 
rich bottom between was divided into small fields, 
separated by ditches, and by trees hung with vines, 
which extended in garlands from one to the other. 
Violets, and a profusion of wild flowers of different 
kinds and colours, were scattered on the borders of the 
road and on the banks above. The arbours and sum- 
mer-houses in the gardens were overrun with spread- 
ing cypress or creeping evergreen, and sometimes 
they were fancifully combined. Two or three solitary 
towers on the hills, and a ruinous castle, gave to this 
sweet vale a higher charm, and finished the beauty 
of the landscape. I was in raptures with it, and my 
friend, who was hardly well enough to enjoy any 
thing, felt the same enthusiasm. 


We reached Lucca about noon. At our inn we 
were shown into a parlour filled with pictures, in a 
style so far beyond the usual decorations of such 
places, that in many other countries they would have 
formed a respectable gallery. 

We went immediately to the cathedral, a large 
Gothic structure of the eleventh century. The white 
marble of which it is built has lost but little of its 
brightness, even after so many ages. The interiour 


is gloomy and venerable, but strongly illuminated in 
certain parts by the brilliant hues of the painted win- 
dows. Among the pictures, I was much pleased with 
the Last Supper by Tintoretto, and the Ascension of 
the Virgin into Heaven by Tofanelli. 

From the belfry of the cathedral, which I mounted 
by a dark and crazy staircase, there is a charming 
view of a beautiful and populous plain, surrounded 
by an amphitheatre of hills, clad with vines and 
olive trees, and adorned with the elegant villas of 
the nobles of Lucca. 

The city is encompassed with ramparts, shaded 
by trees, which are not only broad enough for a 
public walk, but even for carriages. The streets 
are regular, handsome, and paved with large cut 
stone. The only stately edifice, is the public palace, 
an immense pile, though but half of the original plan 
was completed. Lucca has still a considerable trade 
in oil and silks, but it has declined as well as Pisa, 
and in passing through the streets, we remark the 
same sober and neglected air, and almost the same 
desertion and silence. The temporary splendour 
given to it by the presence of Caesar, Pompey, and 
Crassus, who met here to divide among them the Ro- 
man empire, is still its most interesting distinction, 
to those who love to recall the past in the present. 

On leaving Lucca we travelled over a fine road, 
raised a few feet above the adjacent fields, with 
ditches on each side, inlaid with stone. It is lined 
with double rows of trees, forming long avenues for 
foot passengers, and a refreshing shade for those who 
are in carriages. For several miles we rode through 


a luxuriant country, and, in turning around a gentle 
ascent at one point, we had a momentary view of the 
valley behind, cultivated like a garden; of the swell- 
ing hills to the left, with farm houses and superb 
mansions scattered over their sides, and above them 
the silvery tops of the Appenines, partly lost in the 
clouds and mists of the morning. The grounds to 
the right were broken and varied, with something 
more of wildness and sterility. Brooks and streams 
were running among the hills. Trees were in blos- 
som in some of the gardens, and before many of the 
houses there was a small lawn, an avenue of box or 
cypress, or some kind of ornamental shrubbery. And 
as the road passed over hill and dale, we perceived ? 
at every turn, some new combination, some singular 
feature, or some resemblance to the prospects of our 
own country. 

Near Bourg Buggiano a number of persons were 
returning from a fair, leading white oxen, and others 
of a most delicate fawn colour. These cattle were 
small, but exceedingly neat and handsome. Among 
the rustic-groups that went by, we were struck with 
the fine complexions, comely features, and even 
graceful forms of the peasant girls. The smart bea- 
ver hat and feather is a peculiarity in their costume* 
They dress in other respects with simplicity and 
taste, and have often an appearance above their con* 
dition. We remarked two in particular in the course 
of this day's ride, of such singular beautv as would 
have attracted admiration in a fashionable assembly, 
though one was employed in drawing water, and the 
other in carrying wood. 


Throughout all the cities of Tuscany, and even in 
the smaller villages, there is an extraordinary clean-- 
liness, which we were lead to notice more particu- 
larly from having been so recently disgusted with 
the intolerable filthiness of the south of France. 

Not far from Pistoa we passed by one of the re- 
treats of the Grand Duke of Tuscany. The palace 
itself is elegant and spacious, with a noble portico 
and extensive out-houses. A handsome park covers 
the brow of a small acclivity on the opposite side of 
the road. It had been raining hard in the morning, 
and the sky was still heavy and lowering; but when 
we were within a few miles of Florence, the sun 
threw out a partial glare on the villas of the gentry 
and nobles which surround it, while thick dark clouds 
overspread the mountains behind us. 


We entered the city about twilight. While the 
Custom-House officer was examining our baggage 
the Grand Duke passed us, in a carriage drawn by six 
horses, followed by another with his suite, in the 
same style. But they were driven so furiously that 
we had scarcely a glimpse of these great personages. 
It is usual, at such times, for all who are in the streets 
to take off their hats. This mark of respect for 
princely rank may be decent and becoming, but it 
produces a strange sensation in the minds of proud 
and discourteous republicans. Whether it be in all 


cases a cheerful and voluntary act on the part of the 
people themselves, may, perhaps, be doubted ; for I 
remarked that our Cicerone sought to indemnify him- 
self for this token of homage, by expressions of dis- 
regard and contempt for the authority to which it 
was rendered. 

The next day we went out, with eager curiosity, 
to examine this far-famed city. Hitherto we had 
been chiefly entertained by the lovely face of nature 
in Italy, by her romantic coast, the charms of her val- 
leys, the ruggedness of her mountains, the admirable 
cultivation of her soil, the taste displayed in all her 
rural embellishments. Pisa and Lucca atone had 
given us some specimens of art and genius. But we 
were now in the very seat of elegance and refine- 
ment ; where poetry, after the slumber of ages, had 
revived ; where sculpture rivalled the boasted works 
of antiquity, and painting probably surpassed them ; 
where talent of every kind had flourished ; but the 
fine arts were brought almost to perfection. 

The cathedral and baptistery were very near our 
hotel. The latter is a large octagonal building, en- 
tirely incrusted, both externally and internally, with 
white and black marble. Statues of eminent sculp- 
tors adorn the interiour, granite pillars support the 
dome, and the vault is covered with figures in mosaic 
that appeared to me rather grotesque than beautiful. 
But the glory of this edifice consists in the three bronze 
gates, inimitably wrought by Andrew Ugolini and 
Laurence Ghiberti. A variety of scriptural facts are 
traced out in basso-relievo, and the figures, both indi- 
vidually and in the general groups, are executed with 


such delicacy, truth, and effect, as to seize the atten- 
tion of the most unskilful observer, and excite the 
unbounded admiration of the artist. Was there ever 
such a compliment to genius as the well known ex- 
clamation of Michael Angelo, who, in gazing at them, 
saw such beauties as are hidden from common eyes, 
and called them the gates of Paradise? 

From the baptistery we passed to the cathedral, a 
great and magnificent pile, incased with pannel work 
of black and white marble, and surmounted by a 
cupola which only yields to the majesty of St. Peter's 
at Rome. 

A Florentine of our acquaintance endeavoured to 
claim for it the pre-eminence ; but it is honour enough 
that the work of Brunelleschi was at one time un- 
rivalled, and suggested the bold and beautiful plan 
which surpassed it. The ribs of the octagon, and the 
breaks in the circle of this dome, are not like the 
harmonious lines, and the easy and graceful swell of 
St. Peter's. 

The naked and unfinished appearance of the ca- 
thedral within, does not correspond with the rich and 
costly dress without; but still the dim light of the 
deep-stained windows, and particularly the obscurity 
overshadowing the altar and the choir, the height of 
the cupola, the length of the aisles, the soaring of the 
arches, the solemn and gloomy grandeur which reigns 
throughout the building, impress the mind with awe 
and veneration. What proud memorials are that 
lower and that dome of the architect who planned 
the one, and the genius who sublimely reared the 
ether. The ashes of Giotto and Brunelleschi lie 



under the shadow of their works, and their own hands 
have raised their mausoleums. 

We were here one evening at vespers, when we 
saw fifty priests in their sacerdotal robes, and about 
a hundred candidates for orders, in habits resembling 
them. In this display of ecclesiastical pomp, an im- 
agination fond of tracing resemblances between the 
past and the present, might have almost fancied that 
another council was sitting to confirm or sever the 
bond of faith between communities and nations. On 
a subsequent occasion, we heard a funeral address 
from one of the preachers belonging to the cathedral, 
which, in point of elocution, was masterly. It was 
delivered in a clear, strong, and sonorous voice, with 
a free and forcible gesture, an attitude easy and na- 
tural, but constantly varied, and a countenance full 
of passion and expression. The manner was exceed- 
ingly fine, but there was a want of that persuasive- 
ness, and those tender and touching tones which 
should enter more or less into all subjects, but almost 
exclusively into this. 

At one end of the cathedral, and on the north side, 
rises the belfry, a light square tower, which is more 
than three hundred feet in height. Gothic windows, 
with delicate and ornamented mullions, give an airy 
and graceful appearance to this massive work. It is 
covered with variegated marbles, set off with statues, 
and surrounded at the top by a handsome balustrade. 
The trouble of mounting it was abundantly rewarded 
by the glorious prospect it commanded; the domes 
and towers of other churches, and the whole city, at 
©ur feet ; the Arno dividing it, and winding through 


that vale, so celebrated in song; the villas, convents, 
and palaces scattered below and on the hills around ; 
the mountains which rise above encircling the whole, 
and with their dark sides and whitened summits, form- 
ing so strange a contrast with the freshness, and ver- 
dure, and bloom of the valley. It is only in Italy that 
we meet with those rare combinations, which make 
our pleasure perfect. Here nature and art, summer 
and winter, the past and the present, are all brought 
together, and we see more than elsewhere, and feel 
more than we see. 

The church of St. Lorenzo is only remarkable for 
the sacristy, planned by Michael Angelo, and the 
mausoleum of the Medicean family, which adjoins it. 
In the former are the tombs of several of the Medici, 
and the statues of Guliano and Lorenzo. They are 
represented sitting, in the military costume of the 
Romans. The emblematical figures of day and night, 
and morning and evening, are reclining beneath on 
their sarcophagi. Night is personi6ed by a sleeping 
female, and the ease in the attitude, the natural re- 
laxation of the body, and the soundness of sweet and 
tranquil slumber, gave rise to that epigram of Gio- 
vanni Strozzi: — 

" La notte che tu vedi in si dolci atti 
" Dormir, fu da un Angelo scolpita. 
" In questo sasso, e perch e dorme, ha vita. 
" Destala se nol credi, e parleratti." 

" The night, which you see sleeping in this easy pos- 
ture, was wrought by an angel. Whilst she sleeps 
on this tomb, she lives. If you do not believe it, 
awake her, and she will speak to you." 


The altar of the church itself is faced with a mo- 
saic of precious stones, depicting almost with the 
justness and delicacy of the pencil, the sight of the 
Promised Land, the sacrifice of Isaac, and the manna 
rained down from Heaven. 

The royal chapel; or mausoleum of the Medicean 
family, is an octagon of nearly one hundred feet in 
diameter, and two hundred in height. Excepting the 
dome, it is incrusted with the finest and rarest mar- 
bles, and enriched with the statues of the most distin- 
guished sculptors. The oriental granite, the jasper of 
Sicily, Corsica, and Tuscany ; the porphyry of Egypt, 
the violet of Flanders, the coral of Spain, the pearl, 
the agate, the lapis lazuli, the topaz, ruby, emerald, 
and sapphire; all enter into this costly work. These 
fill up the spaces between the pilasters, and are so 
arranged as to produce a fine general effect, as well 
as to exhibit a multitude of fanciful decorations, and 
the arms and inscriptions of different cities in Italy. 

The church of Santa Croce is an immense build- 
ing, but, like St. Lorenzo, presents an unfinished ex- 
terior of rough and gloomy brick walls. The simple 
dignity of the edifice within, is made still more im- 
pressive by a most extraordinary assemblage of the 
illustrious dead, whose monuments line the walls. 
Here lies the body of Michael Angelo, whose vigour 
and boldness chastened the taste of his countrymen 
in the arts; and there, Alfieri, whose lofty muse ex- 
alted their sentiments, and rekindled the spirit of the 
Romans. " Here is Galileo, who was persecuted by 
men, for having discovered the secrets of Heaven; a 
little farther on Machiavel, who laid open the art of 



tyranny, but whose lessons were more profitable to 
the oppressors than the oppressed : Boccacio, whose 
smiling imagination resisted the united scourges of 
pestilence and civil war ; Aretino, who devoted his 
days to pleasantry, and experienced nothing serious 
on earth but death; finally, many others, celebrated 
during their lives, but whose names will resound 
more faintly from generation to generation, till their 
noise at last dies away, and is lost for ever."* 

On one of the funeral monuments in this church 
we observed a singular inscription. Instead of stat- 
ing that the deceased had departed this life in such a 
year of our Lord, it was thus expressed, a partu Vir- 
ginis 1770. 

The palaces of Florence were built rather for de- 
fence in times of civil distraction, than for elegance 
and comfort in peace. They are for the most part 
dark, heavy, quadrangular piles, with a high and 
strong foundation of rough unhewn stone, small win- 
dows, and a large projecting cornice. The upper 
stories are built of free-stone. The architectural 
ornaments are entirely confined to the inner court, 
and even there also beauty is generally neglected 
for the sake of strength. 

The Palazzo Ricardi was built by the great Cos- 
mo de Medici, but has now passed to the family 
whose name it bears. The library consists of a 
valuable collection of forty-six thousand volumes, 
and four thousand manuscripts. Many of the latter 
are beautifully illuminated. We entered the library 

* Corinne, torn. iii. 320, 321. 



through a long hall, the vaulted ceiling of which 19 
painted with mythological subjects by Luke Jordan, 
and the sides covered with painted mirrors. The 
other apartments are highly embellished by frescos 
and stucco work. On leaving this palace, a cardinal, 
who lives in the neighbouring city of Reggio. was 
just getting into his carriage in the court, and to our 
eyes, accustomed to simplicity among ecclesiastics, 
the splendour of his equipage seemed to savour too 
much of worldly pomp. 

The Palazzo Pitti, which is the residence of the 
Grand Duke of Tuscany, is outwardly a rude, gloomy, 
and uncouth mass, but within it is as rich and gor- 
geous as the pictures of romance. We passed through 
a multitude of chambers, many of which are filled 
with ancient statues, and with the master-pieces of 
the most eminent painters in the Italian and Flemish 

Fifteen of these apartments communicate with 
each other in a direct line, nearly five hundred feet 
long. With the exception of one, which is furnished 
in a different style, they are all entirely hung with 
superb damasks of various colours and patterns. The 
beautiful statue of Venus, by Canova, is the last ob- 
ject shown to the stranger. In the decorations of this 
palace there was no glitter nor profusion, but a sim- 
ple magnificence throughout the whole, suited to the 
dignity of a princely abode. 

There are altogether between three and four hun- 
dred paintings in the gallery. The Madonna della 
sedia, or Virgin, holding in her arms the infant Sa- 
viour, is one of the most admired works of Raphael. 


There is nothing more than the expression of mater- 
nal fondness in Mary, a sweet and open look in the 
child, and extraordinary beauty in both ; together 
with that grace in the attitudes, that richness of co- 
louring, and incomparable finish which mark his best 
productions. But it irresistibly arrests the attention, 
and I found myself delighted with it, before I knew 
what claims it had to admiration. There is another 
here of the Virgin, by Raphael; but, by a very com- 
mon anachronism, the painter has introduced into it 
the persons of St. Augustin, St. Bernard, and St. 
Roque. The wife of Titian, by himself, is an interest- 
ing portrait, and his Magdalen perhaps the best work 
in the collection. It is somewhat singular that pain- 
ters have generally chosen to represent this penitent 
woman, with so much of her person exposed, as to 
give her an air of wantonness, even in grief and prayer. 
So she appears at present, but in all other respects the 
picture is faultless. Her hair is dishevelled, and hang- 
ing loosely over her shoulders and bosom. Her fore- 
head is slightly contracted. Her face is flushed. Her 
eyes, reddened and filled with tears, are lifted up to 
Heaven, in earnest supplication. Her lips are just 
opened, but her heart breaks through them. She is 
in an agony of sorrow. Her plaintive cries must be 
heard, and her sins forgiven. Never was passion 
more forcibly pourtrayed, nor art brought nearer to 
nature. The sinful woman is before our eyes, and 
we almost feel like our Lord himself, when he 
received the affecting testimonies of her love and 
The garden of Boboli, which belongs to this pa- 




lace, spreads over a vast extent, and rising behind it, 
gives a delightful view of the surrounding country. 

The Palazzo Vecchio, once the residence of the 
Grand Duke, is in a still heavier style of architecture, 
and the lofty tower above makes it appear more like 
a fortress than a palace. It stands on a square, in 
the centre of which is an equestrian statue of Cosmo 
de Medici, in bronze, the work of John of Bologna ; 
and a large fountain, surrounded by nymphs and tri- 
tons, with Neptune in the middle of the basin. In 
the entrance of the Palazzo Vecchio, and the portico 
of a neighbouring edifice r we see the seizure of the 
Sabine women, by the same sculptor, the Judith of 
Donatello, the Perseus of Benvenuto Cellini, the 
Hercules and Cacus of Bandinelli, and the David of 
Michael Angelo. The last was one of the earliest ef- 
forts of that great artist's genius. His patron, Sode- 
rini, the chief magistrate of Florence, " on seeing the 
statue^ admired it exceedingly, but pretended to dis- 
cover that the nose was -a little too large, which 
Michael Angelo explained, by attributing the appear- 
ance to the fore-shortening produced by the situation 
from which he saw it. His scientific reasoning, how- 
ever, was not satisfactory ; therefore, in an instant 
he mounted the scaffold, taking a chisel in one hand, 
and a little marble dust in the other, and while he 
pretended to be reducing the surface, he let fall a 
little dust, as he appeared to be working. Soderini 
was satisfied with this deference to his judgment, and 
soon exclaimed, Now I am better pleased ; you have 
given it life."* 

• Life of Michael Angelo, by Duppa, p. 3S. 


From this square we pass into the grand gallery 
of Florence, which forms three sides of another. It 
is an immense building, the wings of which are be- 
tween four and five hundred feet long, and the inter- 
mediate part about a hundred. The gallery corre- 
sponds in extent with the three sides of the edifice, 
and in a series of paintings arranged along the walls, 
according to the several epochs to which they belong, 
exhibits a history of the art in all its stages; from the 
stiffness, meagerness, and deformity of the eleventh 
century, to the grace, the richness, and more per- 
fect beauty of the sixteenth. Besides these, there 
are the portraits of men who were distinguished in 
the annals of Florence, eminent strangers, painters of 
merit, and a complete collection of ancient busts ; 
comprising the Roman emperors and their families, 
from the destruction of the republic to the reign of 

The eye is confused by the multitude of these ob- 
jects, and while it glances carelessly over all, it re- 
tains no impression of any. This vast collection, 
however, only comprehends the works of inferior 
merit. A long suite of apartments, parallel with one 
wing of the building, is filled with the chefs d'muvres 
in sculpture and painting, disposed according to their 
comparative merit, and divided into different schools. 
The tribune, an octagonal chamber of twenty-four 
feet in diameter, and about the same height, the pave- 
ment of which is of variegated marble, and the dome 
inlaid with mother of pearl, contains the wonder of 
the world, the Venus de Medici, and another which 
divides its admiration, the Venus of Titian. In one, 


the artist, it is thought, must have followed the ideal 
beauty of his own imagination, for he could have had 
no model. In the other, we see the perfection of the 
imitative power. The daughter of Herodias, receiv- 
ing the head of St. John the Baptist from the execu- 
tioner, by Leonardo da Vinci, seemed to my untaught 
judgment deserving the next place, though it ranks, 
I believe, after several others in this collection. Her 
head is turned from the hideous object towards her 
mother, while she stretches out her hand to receive 
it. There is a smile of satisfaction, disturbed by a 
slight degree of horror, and the painter has entirely 
succeeded in reconciling so much beauty with so 
much cruelty. The whole group is well conceived, 
and all the figures are exquisitely finished. 

1 never shall forget the masterly strokes and glow- 
ing tints in Raphael's portrait of Julius the Second, 
nor the loveliness and grace of his Fornarina. A 
superb portrait of the prelate Becadelli, remarkable 
for strength of expression and freshness of colouring, 
by Titian, and St John the Baptist in the wilderness, 
by Raphael, in his last manner, are all besides of 
which I have a distinct recollection. 

Among the secondary statues, the attention is 
chiefly drawn to the wrestlers, the knife grinder, and 
the young Apollo, though it is ever recurring to the 
inimitable form of the Paphian goddess. My eye was 
too little practised in sculpture, and my taste too 
little improved to perceive all the excellencies in the 
group of Niobe, and to be struck, like others, with her 
calmness, her dignity, her chastened grief, in the- 
midst of the most profound despair. 


This gallery is always open to citizens and stran- 
gers; a person of education and refinement is paid 
by the people of Florence to be their guide through 
it; inferior officers are in waiting to assist when there 
is a crowd; and for all this gratification and service 
nothing is allowed to be given, except a trifle to the 
porter on the first visit, which is not to be repeated. 

We spent one morning only, where we might have 
passed a hundred, in rambling through the cabinet of 
natural history, and in examining the anatomical 
figures, in wax, of Fontana. The representation of 
the human body, from the first step in dissection 
down to the naked skeleton, and of all its different 
parts, even to the most delicate vessels and minute 
fibres, forms so vast a collection, as to fill sixteen 
rooms. Twenty others are taken up with the exhibi- 
tion of the animal, vegetable, and mineral kingdoms, 
throughout their endless varieties. 

1 was delighted to meet a gentleman here from 
New- York. In a strange country he seemed like an 
old acquaintance, and, for the remainder of the time, 
became our inseparable companion. In Mr. Am- 
brosi we found a man of very general information, 
who, having been in America, could talk to us, in our 
own language, about our friends and our homes ; and 
who, by his kind, assiduous, and useful attentions, 
has made us his debtors, in common with many of 
our countrymen. 



March 10th. We left Florence in company with 
Mr. Cohen, an English gentleman of London, and two 
Italians. The country through which we travelled 
the first day presented a succession of hills, clothed 
with vines and olive trees. We spent the night at 
Poggibonsi, an insignificant town, which would 
scarcely have been remembered but for the pre-emi- 
nently vile supper that was set before us, and the 
dirty and unfinished room in which it was served. 

A narrow ridge, with a deep valley on each side, 
leads, by an easy ascent, to the summit of the moun- 
tain on which Sienna is situated. We entered the 
city by the long and undulating street that divides it 
into two equal parts. The cathedral is a rich and 
curious Gothic edifice, cased with rows of black and 
white marble. The pillars, composed of alternate 
layers of the same, have a singular and disagreeable 
appearanee. Among the decorations scattered pro- 
fusely through every part, some are extremely beau- 
tiful, and others sufficiently grotesque. The vault of 
the nave is of a deep sky blue, bespangled with 
stars. The heads of all the popes, cast in terra cotta, 
are placed around it. Statues and basso relievos, 
by Bernini, Donatello, and Michael Angelo, adorn 
the walls, and the outlines of figures, formed by the 
intermixture of black with white marble in the pave- 
ment, produce all the effect of mosaic. In the ad- 
joining library there are some fresco paintings, one 


of which is ascribed to Raphael; and several illumi- 
nated liturgies are said to be touched by the same 
pencil. The exterior of the cathedral is more simple 
and uniform, though that is also somewhat fantastical. 
This, with many of the principal buildings, suffered 
much from an earthquake in 1793. 

Several of the public edifices in Sienna merit at- 
tention; but irregularity, inelegance, and an air of 
squalid poverty, mark the city in general. 

Beyond Sienna there is less fertility, and a fainter 
verdure, but still the country is beautiful and striking. 
As we proceeded, it grew more wild and desolate, 
and at Poderina we saw nothing before us but an 
ocean of sand hills, cut up with gullies and deep 
ravines, and scarcely enlivened by a trace of vegeta- 
tion. Such a deserted waste was suited to the dark 
deeds which rumour reports are sometimes acted 
upon it. 

The fields near Radicofani were covered with a 
peculiar kind of stones, which were probably thrown 
there in some volcanic eruption. The ancient city 
is supposed to have been built on the mouth of a 
crater. When we arrived at the modern town, which 
is considerably lower, it was almost night, and a 
thick mist increased the obscurity; but feeling anxious 
to view the site, we immediately set out, and ascend- 
ed the slippery height with some difficulty. The old 
fortifications appeared to be built in a great measure 
of pumice stone, tut we could discover no vestiges 
of the crater. This steep and pointed peak, which 
is more than three thousand feet above the sea, can 
be seen from Sienna 3 a distance of nearly fifty miles. 


I never heard the human voice in its ordinary tones 
so sweet and musical as in the loquacious boy who 
was our guide up the mountain, and in his mouth 
the Italian language had all the softness and melody 
for which it is so much extolled. 

A little before Pontecentino, we passed from Tus- 
cany into the Ecclesiastical State, and were detained 
at this place sometime by the examination of our 
baggage. Near Acquapendente we remarked among 
the rocks at the side of the road, some basaltic co- 

Soon after we came in sight of the beautiful lake 
of Bolsena, with several islands rising out of it, and 
three or four towns on the borders. One of these, 
which was built on the ruins of the ancient Volsi- 
mum, now bears the name of the lake. Excepting 
a few slabs, with Latin inscriptions, which appear to 
have been recently dug up, and a rudely sculptured 
sarcophagus, in the court of the principal church, 
there was nothing that indicated the remote origin of 
this city. A small and ruinous castle, of the middle 
ages, stands on an eminence near the upper gate. 

Before dinner we took a ramble, through some 
fields and vineyards, to the lake. The still and 
retired scene was fitted for musing; and had it even 
been less so, yet in such a place dulness itself could 
have scarcely escaped from reflection. Here lived 
the Volsci who contended so manfully with the as- 
piring power of Rome. The story of Coriolanus rises 
up in the mind; his wounded pride driving him to 
the household gods of his enemies for protection, 
and to their alliance for revenge ; then the affections 


of nature struggling with his purpose ; his firmness 
dissolved; his ungrateful country saved ; but his own 
life the price of his generosity. 

During the evening a party came to our inn with 
the Countess of Rochefocault, who had spent many 
years in the United States, and who seemed pleased 
with the present occasion of calling up the recollec- 
tions of her abode among us. 

They gave us an account of a robbery which took 
place a day or two before near Ronciglione, and en- 
tertained us with many other narrations quite as sea- 
sonable. The most dangerous part of our route was 
before us, and our apprehensions stood in need of no 
additional excitement. 

From Ronciglione, till we got within the immedi- 
ate environs of Rome, we travelled through the most 
naked and neglected country in Europe. It is not, 
however, a barren desert, for the fields are fresh, and 
the soil good; but it is a place forsaken and desolate. 
In a distance of thirty miles, excepting two or three 
villages, I counted only eight houses on the road, 
and about twice that number in the adjacent fields. 
Occasionally we saw herds of cattle, or a shepherd 
with his flock, or a few patches of grain, which ap- 
peared rather like spontaneous productions than the 
fruit of cultivation ; but there are scarcely any other 
appearances of man or his labours in the whole wide 
waste of the Campagna of Rome. The desolation 
of nature was also heightened by associating with it 
the crimes of men ; for here we were frequently re- 
minded of them by the limbs of the malefactors, 
which were suspended on poles, and exposed as a 



terror to evil doers. A sight so revolting made us 
sick both in body and mind. 

We were now drawing near to that renowned city 
whose history is so interwoven with our early remem- 
brances and feelings. Rome, of which I had read 
so much, the story of whose heroes was like " a 
household tale ;" whose hills, Forum, temples, and 
palaces, seemed so familiar; Rome, the theatre of 
so many mighty revolutions, the seat of an empire 
unequalled in extent or duration, and which became 
more remarkable in its decline than in the zenith of 
its power; Rome was just ready to break upon my 
straining sight. I found myself strangely affected. 
I grew uneasy and impatient. Jt seemed even as if 
an important epoch in my life were approaching ; 
and I had a kind of confused and indescribable 
feeling, made up of curiosity, wonder, joy, and eager 
expectation, which I never experienced before, and 
which, perhaps, no earthly object could ever again 

At Baccano I got out on the front seat to catch the 
first glimpse of St. Peter's. It was almost impossible 
to realize my situation ; and when 1 crossed the Ti- 
ber, and entered the gates, and found myself in the 
midst of Rome, it still seemed like an illusion. 



We came into the city by the porta del popolo, 
which displays it in one of the most striking points of 
view. Before this gate there is a small square with 
a superb Egyptian obelisk, of red granite, in the cen- 
tre. At the opposite side it opens upon three long 
and regular streets slightly diverging from each other, 
and the two points from which they separate are 
graced with neat and beautiful churches. As we 
rode on, all that we saw was new, except the aspiring 
column of Marcus Aurelius, and part of a portico that 
formerly surrounded the temple of Antoninus. This 
elegant ruin, consisting of thirteen pillars of Greek 
marble, with a rich entablature, now forms the front 
of the Custom- House, and though it is disfigured by 
this incorporation with a modern edifice, yet perhaps 
it owes its very existence to the union which de- 
grades it. 

After having taken our lodgings, we rambled about 
the city in the evening, and in the course of our walk 
saw the Pantheon. Though the moon gave but a 
dim light, the lofty dome and spacious vestibule 
struck us with admiration. Captain Totti, an Italian 
gentleman who accompanied us from Florence, and 
to whom every thingin Rome was familiar, appeared, 
however, to be in a still greater transport. " Figure to 
yourselves," said he, with eagerness and extravagance, 
" the difficulty of rearing this portico. What enormous 
columns, and each of a single block ! By what ef- 



forts of mechanism were they placed here! What 
skill! What majesty! How great were the ancients! 
Who would not venerate this temple of all the gods?" 
The ludicrous warmth of our companion entirely di- 
verted our attention from the object he was praising. 
We revisited it in the morning, and the sober dignity 
of this temple was still more imposing in the light 
of day. Eight pillars of oriental granite, in front of 
the portico, support a pediment of the most just and 
beautiful proportions. Eight more of the same de- 
scription form a double rank behind, by omitting 
every other column. In entering the Pantheon, our 
wonder increased. We had seen costly and mag- 
nificent edifices, but never any so simple and sublime. 
The diameter of the rotundo is only one hundred and 
fifty feet, and the height of the dome is the same; 
but it is so little encumbered with ornaments, and 
the eye ranges around with so much freedom, that 
there is an appearance of vastness altogether beyond 
the true dimensions. The illusion is extraordinary 
and powerful. We cannot realize the great extent 
of some buildings. Here my astonishment never 
ceased at the grand and impressive effect of this tem- 
ple, when the means by which it is produced seem 
to be so inadequate. But the graceful form and ap- 
parent magnitude of the Pantheon are not all that 
we admire. While the bronze and silver, so profusely 
lavished on this building, could not escape the hand 
of rapacity, the precious marbles which covered the 
walls, and the pillars and pilasters which were placed 
around the rotundo, have lost but little of their ori- 
ginal freshness and beauty. The Pantheon has suf- 

ROME. 109 

fered more without than within. The cupidity of 
conquerors, the spoliations of popes, and the wasting 
of time, have left only the solid walls and strong and 
massive portico. Stripped, however, as it is, tarnished 
and discoloured, and deprived of its original eleva- 
tion from the accumulation of soil around it, it is, 
nevertheless, one of the noblest relicks of antiquity ; 
and still exhibits the munificence of Agrippa, the 
glory of the Augustan age, and the most perfect mo- 
del of taste, proportion, and grandeur. 

From the Pantheon we proceeded to the Capito- 
line hill. Here the Egyptian lions, at the foot of the 
steps which lead to the summit, remind us of the 
nations that were tributary to Rome 5 the columns 
above, that once stood as mile stones on the roads, 
of the extent of her dominion; " the trophies of Ma- 
rius, of her misfortunes, and the equestrian statue of 
Marcus Aurelius, in the centre of the square, of the 
best days of her glory." And this is the capitol — so 
intimately connected with the history of Rome, with 
her defence, her worship, her triumphs, and renown ; 
which has been trodden by so many illustrious men, 
apostrophized by so many orators, and distinguished 
by so many pompous ceremonies, such weighty de- 
liberations, and important measures. But in look- 
ing around, all the edifices we see are modern. They 
are the works of Michael Angelo, though without his 
usual boldness and vigour ; and, in this spot, with 
which the imagination has been accustomed to as- 
sociate ideas of greatness and splendour, we merely 
see elegance and beauty. 

The palace of the Conservatory is on one side 5 the 

1 10 ROME. 

Museum Capitolitium on the other, and the palace of 
the Senator of Rome in front. The church of Ara 
Cceli,on a higher part of the mount, is supposed to oc- 
cupy the site of the temple of Jupiter Feretrius. It 
was in a fit of musing in this church that Gibbon first 
thought of writing the Decline and Fall of the Roman 
Empire. In the view of things so new, however, we 
did not find the spot itself calling up immediately 
and strongly the feelings connected with it. But as 
soon as we went down into the Forum, we were car- 
ried back to the times and events of ancient Rome. 
Here, scattered columns, the porticos of temples, tri- 
umphal arches, and ruinous foundations, forcibly re- 
mind us of the days of imperial greatness; and the 
imagination is busy in filling up this scene of desola- 
tion, and figuring its original majesty and pomp. In 
descending the Capitoline hill we see on the right 
three columns of the temple of Jupiter Tonans, which 
Augustus raised in grateful commemoration of his 
being saved by that deity from a stroke of lightning 
near thisspot. Immediately below is a portico con- 
sisting of eight Ionic pillars of oriental granite, which 3 
there is some reason to believe, belonged to the tem- 
ple of Concord, where Cicero assembled the ISenate 
in Cataline's conspiracy. Three fluted columns of 
Parian marble, with Corinthian capitals, supporting an 
entablature, which is equally admired for grandeur 
and the delicacy and finish of the frieze and other or- 
naments, are all the remains of the temple of Jupiter 
Stator. Deep excavations have been made here, 
as well as around the column of Phocas near 
it. They have found broken pillars, fragments of 

ROME, 111 

cornices, mutilated statues, the foundations of an- 
cient and modern edifices; but the pavement of the 
Forum has not been discovered, nor any thing else 
which could elucidate materially the doubts of an- 
tiquarians. The triumphal arch of Septimius Seve- 
rus is a little to the left. It is decorated with eight 
fluted pillars, and with representations in basso re- 
lievo of his expeditions against the Parthians and Ara- 
bians. The figures are but little injured, and the rest 
of this solid monument is entire. A short distance 
from this arch, in the Via Sacra, are the ruins of the 
temple of Antoninus and Faustina. The portico, 
the two side walls, the cornice, and the beautiful em- 
bellishments of the frieze, are well preserved. The 
church of St. Lorenzo in Miranda is built within 
these walls, and having its own front behind the an- 
cient portico, and not being assimilated in the style 
of architecture or elegance of design to the temple 
itself, it deforms this ruin, though it will contribute to 
preserve it. The inscription in front, to the god An- 
toninus and the goddess Faustina, is perfectly legible. 
The former was more worthy of divine honours than 
many on whom they were lavished ; but the latter 
was a divinity only in the estimation of her husband. 
He celebrated her virtues in his writings ; temples 
~were raised to her; she was represented in them 
"" with the attributes of Juno, Venus, and Ceres ; M 
and while all Rome was scandalized by her manners, 
he alone was ignorant of her gallantries, and thought 
her a spotless being, worthy of invocations and vows. 
Three immense arches, with some beautiful mar- 
ine, fragments lying beneath them, are thought by 



some antiquaries to be a part of the temple of Peace: 
and on the right side of the Via Sacra, are the lofty 
and extensive foundations of the palace of the Caesars, 
now forming the Farnese gardens. Here also is the 
triumphal arch of Titus, which is esteemed the most 
perfect monument of the kind that time has spared. 
Beneath the arch, on one of the inner sides, Titus is 
seen, borne along in his triumphal chariot by four 
fiery steeds, with the emblematic figures of Rome 
guiding, and Victory crowning him ; on the other, the 
Jewish prisoners, and soldiers carrying on their shoul- 
ders the precious vessels of the temple of Jerusalem, 
the golden candlestick, the silver trumpets, the vase 
which held the water for purification, and the ta- 
ble of gold upon which the shew-bread was placed. 
Many of the figures are mutilated and defaced, and 
the whole arch has suffered so much, that props are 
employed to support it. 

We did not neglect to visit the Tarpeian rock. On 
our way there, we inquired of a woman who lived 
in the neighbourhood, where it was to be found. " O 
Sirs," shcreplied, " these are matters with which I 
am entirely unacquainted. I never trouble my head 
about them." Our Italian friend Totti was moved 
with a kind of good-natured indignation at such gross 
ignorance in a region so classical. But we soon suc- 
ceeded in discovering the spot which tradition has 
marked out as the Tarpeian rock. It is at present 
covered with a garden. This circumstance, together 
with the accumulation of soil below, had so softened 
the terrors of the place, that it bore no resemblance 
to the horrid form in which fancy had pictured it. 

In the course of ages has ancient Rome not only- 
disappeared, but some of the hills on which it was 
built, are almost lost. The intervening spaces have, 
in part, been filled up by the constant operation of 
natural causes, and by the ruins of the city. In the 
older views of the Forum, the arch of Septimius 
Severus was half buried, and all the other objects 
so sunken and deformed as to exhibit very imper- 
fectly their beauty and proportion. But the earth is 
now cleared away from every portico and arch, and 
we see them from their base. 

On leaving the Forum, we went to the Spada pa- 
lace. A gentleman in our party being pressed for 
time, we could only run hastily over the statues dug 
out of Pompey's theatre. There was one object, how- 
ever, of uncommon interest, which we contemplated 
at greater leisure, the colossal statue of Pompey him- 
self, at the foot of which it is supposed Julius Caesar 
fell. If this were certain, the pride of the Vatican 
would not excite so deep a feeling. But here obtru- 
sive doubts are a source of perpetual vexation. We 
could not help remarking in this statue a certain ex* 
travagance, which overstepped the modesty of nature. 
In order to show great manliness and strength, there 
was a swelling of the muscles, and a tension of sinew, 
which would have hardly suited Hercules himself. 

March 17th. To-day we completed our survey of 
the antiquities about the Forum. We stopped a few 
minutes at the triumphal arch of Constantine, which 
is the largest work of the kind in Rome. The basso 
relievos, exhibiting the victories of Trajan over the 
Dacians, were taken from the arch of that emperor^, 


114 HOME. 

and employed in the decoration of this. Must not 
the pride of the conqueror have been mortified by 
the necessity of borrowing the inappropriate story of 
another, to perpetuate the remembrance of his own 
achievements? The other figures are considered as 
proofs of bad taste, and of the decline of the arts in 
the time of Constantino. 

Within a few paces stands the Coliseum, or amphi- 
theatre of Titus. It is the most majestic ruin in the 
world. Will it not then appear like extravagance to 
say, that it did not correspond with my expectations ? 
I had heard that the amphitheatre at Nismes sunk 
into insignificance when compared with it ; and this 
work had appeared to me so great, that my imagina- 
tion had magnified the Coliseum beyond the gigantic 
attempts of Roman power. Three ranks of arches 
encircled the building, and the spaces between them 
were ornamented with Doric pillars in the first story, 
with Ionic in the second, and with Corinthian pilas- 
ters in the third. An attic rose above the whole. It 
contained seats for nearly eighty thousand spectators, 
and room for twenty thousand more. The circum- 
ference of this vast edifice is one thousand six hun- 
dred and twenty-one feet, and the height one hundred 
and seventy. Nearly one half of the outer wall re- 
mains entire; the rest has fallen; but the circle is 
completed with a lower elevation by the wall of the 
next corridor within. On entering the arena we saw 
no seats, but merely the naked and crumbling arches 
which supported them. The two upper slopes are 
already destroyed, and the wall which rises above is 
^>nly sustained by its own solidity. The rest are in a 

BOME. 115 

great measure preserved, but stripped of their cover- 
ing, and broken into a variety of forms ; and the in- 
teriour has one face of decay and ruin. Grass and 
weeds cover those parts which have suffered most 
from time and violence, and this solitary monument 
'Of fallen greatness inspires a deeper interest now 
than it could have done when it was perfect and 

When we consider the form and simplicity of this 
structure, so well calculated to resist the influence 
of the ordinary agents which destroy the works of 
man. the durability of the materials, the massivenesS 
of the work, we cannot be surprised at the exclama- 
tion of the northern pilgrims, who saw it in the eighth 
century, recorded by the venerable Bede: — * 6 As long 
as the Coliseum stands, Rome shall stand ; when the 
Coliseum falls, Rome will fall ; when Rome falls ? 
the world will fall." But what neglect and the rava- 
ges of time could not have done, the struggles of con- 
tending factions, who intrenched themselves within 
its wallsj the sale of the materials by some popes, the 
licensed plunder of the nobles, and the continual 
depredations of the people, have accomplished ; and 
neither the lofty buttress which is raised against the 
falling wall, nor the new supports which are built to 
sustain the tottering arches, by the liberality of the 
present pope, can save it, for many generations, from 
utter ruin. 

From the Coliseum we went to St. Peter's. Be- 
fore we entered it We found ourselves surrounded with 
wonders. A double colonnade, formed by four exten- 
sive ranges of lofty pillars, sweep around, on each 

116 HOME. 

side, in a semicircle, and leave between them a 
beautiful and spacious court. From the inner ex- 
tremities of these open porticos, two close galleries 
extend, almost in a direct line, to the front of the 
church. In the centre of the court, an Egyptian 
obelisk, eighty feet in height and nine feet square at 
the base, rises upon an elevated pedestal ; and two 
superb fountains, at equal distances from it, throw 
up streams of water, which fall around in perpetual 
showers. The view is closed by the vast front of St. 
Peter's, the lesser cupolas, and the stupendous dome. 
It is difficult to give any suitable ideas of these extra- 
ordinary objects, or to express the feelings which 
they successively excited. 

We then enter, by a fine marble staircase, of three 
flights, into a grand and elegant vestibule, about fifty 
feet in breadth and four hundred and fifty in length, 
graced with the equestrian statue of Constantine the 
Great at one end, and Charlemagne at the other. 

But when we passed into the church itself, all that 
we had seen seemed as nothing. So vast in dimen- 
sions, so just in symmetry, so rich and gorgeous, and 
yet so sublime !— it surpassed all that we had conceiv- 
ed of this world's grandeur. We stood some time fixed 
in amazement, uttering nothing but exclamations of 
wonder and delight. The vault, glittering with 
gilded bronze, rose one hundred and fifty feet above 
our heads, and the grand nave stretched out to the 
length of a furlong. We walked up this aisle till we 
came under the dome, which hangs over the transept, 
where it is intersected by the nave. The extreme 
point of the lantern is between four and five hundred 

ROME. 117 

feet from jhe pavement. The light admitted from 
above throws a soft lustre over the rich mosaics with 
which the dome is inlaid; and while we gaze at the 
representation of our Lord in his glory, surrounded by 
apostles and martyrs, " the spirits of just men made 
perfect, and all the company of Heaven ;" the strik- 
ing emblem can scarcely fail to awaken more lively 
ideas of the reality. The greatness, the elevation, 
the unrivalled sublimity of this work, draw the eye 
from the rest of the edifice, and fix it, with increased 
admiration, on this noblest part of the noblest build- 
ing in the universe. The columns only which sup- 
port the dome are sixty-five feet square. The arm of 
the cross is five hundred feet long, and even wider 
than the middle aisle. 

The grand altar, at the central point of intersection, 
is covered by a high canopy of bronze, resting on 
twisted pillars. Around the tomb of St. Peter, im- 
mediately beneath, a hundred and twelve silver 
lamps are always kept burning. At the upper end 
of the nave is the chair of St. Peter. The four doc- 
tors of the Latin and Greek churches are supporting 
it. Angels stand at the side, two above hold the 
tiara and the pontifical keys, and cherubim and sera- 
phim worship it. This presumptuous monument is 
likewise of gilded bronze. The Holy Spirit, blessing 
and crowning the work, appears above all, in the form 
of a dove, on a ground of yellow crystal ; and the 
light which comes through is so brilliant, and yet so 
subdued, that it throws around the dove a kind of ce- 
lestial splendour. 

It would be an endless work to describe the stately 

118 ROME. 

sepulchral monuments which fill the recesses ; the 
various marbles with which the walls are covered ; 
the columns scattered through the aisles and about 
the altars ; the paintings, in mosaic, which ceil the 
numerous domes; the copies of celebrated pictures, 
taken by artists skilful in mosaic work, to perpetu- 
ate their beauties; the statues and other embellish- 
ments which enrich this magnificent temple. These 
give it the finishing graces, but it owes its incom- 
parable majesty to the bold and simple features 
already described. Every thing here is on a colos- 
sal scale; but whether it be from the numerous orna- 
ments of the building, or from the perfect harmony 
between the details and the general plan, 1 could 
never realize the vastness and extent of St. Peter's. 
As we came in, one of the company called my atten- 
tion to the statues of two angels which are placed by 
the fonts of holy water on each side of the middle 
aisle. They seemed, only a few paces off, to be 
about the size of a chubby infant, just out of the 
mother's arms; but, on drawing near, we found 
them larger than men. So also the bronze canopy 
over the altar, viewed from the entrance of the 
church, looks like a diminutive object, though it is 
nearly one hundred feet high. All that we see around 
us is grand and elevating beyond conception, and 
yet, from the actual dimensions, we would expect the 
aisles to appear longer, the roof more aspiring, and 
the dome dim and indistinct from distance. 

When Julius II. ascended the papal throne Mi- 
chael Angelo was invited to Rome. After some de- 
liberation, it was determined that he should exert his 

ROME. 119 

$kill in the erection of a mausoleum, which might 
associate the fame of the patron with the genius of 
the artist, and be a lasting memorial of both. He 
conceived a plan which was too vast to be executed in 
the church of St. Peter without enlarging the build- 
ing. But as it was already very old, Sangallo ad- 
vised the Pope to raise a chapel expressly for the 
mausoleum; and this is the origin of that edifice, 
which exceeds every other in glory. 

The vanity of Julius was, perhaps, then, the im- 
mediate cause of the Reformation. For it was in the 
eager exaction of monies, through the sale of indul- 
gences, to build St. Peter's, that men determined to 
shake off their burdens, and break the fetters which 
bound them. 

We confined ourselves, for the rest of the morning, 
to the gallery of pictures in the Vatican. As an apo- 
logy for an appearance of presumption in the follow- 
ing remarks, I ought to state, that my design in this 
loose journal, is only to describe, with simplicity, the 
objects that pass before me, and to record the 
impressions which they make on my own mind. 
Knowing little or nothing of statuary and painting, 
or of their rules and technical language, I judge of 
them only by their effects on a common and untu- 
tored observer. 

On entering the gallery, the first picture that we 
saw was the transfiguration of Raphael. It is the 
master-piece of the author, and the most famous 
painting on earth. My expectations were propor- 
tioned to its reputation, and, in this instance, as in 
many others, 1 experienced a degree of disappoint- 

120 ROME. 

ment. The excellencies are so great as to justify 
the most enthusiastic praise, but yet I was rash 
enough to find fault with it. Our Saviour, surrounded 
by a cloud of glory, is raised a little above the mount, 
as well as Moses and Elias on each side of him. 
This is a liberty with the narration of the evangelists 
which some may think justifiable, but, to me, it did 
not seem natural. The same objection might also 
be made against the introduction of two other per- 
sonages on the mount besides the apostles. For a 
similar reason I was not pleased with another group 
below, which is the admiration of all connoisseurs. 
It is the father and lunatic son, with the crowd of 
people which Jesus met the next day after he had 
come down from the mountain. 

I cannot help thinking, where facts are the subject 
of a picture, any thing else which is brought in 
merely for effect, without a shadow of authority from 
the history itself, or any connexion of distinct inci- 
dents, differing both in time and place, is a blemish 
which no excellence in the execution can atone for 
or excuse* 

If, however, we could for a moment suppose that 
the painter had copied the real account of the trans- 
figuration, then our admiration of the piece would be 
unbounded. Our Saviour appears to be more than 
man; and Moses and Elias seem like glorified spirits. 
The apostles are wrapt in a kind of ecstatic trance ; 
they are disturbed by the scene which is passing be- 
fore them, though they see it imperfectly, and com- 
prehend it less; they are bent down in attitudes of 
awe and astonishment, with their hands before their 

HOME. 121 

eyes to shield them from the dazzling and insupport- 
able brightness. The agitation and workings of the 
evil spirit in the person of the possessed ; the ghastlj T 
appearance of his eyes, uplifted and turned aside ; 
the demoniacal expression of the countenance, and 
the convulsive struggles of one tormented in body 
and mind ; the surprise and horror in the wild gaze 
of the man who supports him; the just attitudes and 
natural looks of the whole group, are all proofs of the 
strong conceptions and exaited genius of the painter. 
Every figure in the piece is finished. Every head*, 
when examined singly, is viewed with admiration. 
The colouring is rich and deep, but yet it is the 
colouring of life. No part of it that has not some 
Striking beauty or excellence, and if in the represen- 
tation of an historical fact fidelity to the story be not 
required, and painting be allowed a licence which 
poetry can only use with reserve, then the transfigu- 
ration may justly be considered the first piece in the 

Excepting the Fortune of Guido, the only picture 
besides in this valuable collection which left a strong 
impression on my mind, was the Communion of St. 
Jerome, by Domenichino. 

He is on the bed of death, and on the eve of expir- 
ing. He is sitting up, and just ready to receive from 
the hands of the priest the bread of life. His looks are 
divided between this memorial of salvation and that 
Heaven which it assures him. Weak, pale, emaciat- 
ed, and ready to give up the ghost, his countenance 
is nevertheless lightened with faith and hope. A 
friend, kneeling at his side, is melted by a sight so 


122 ItOME* 

affecting. A woman is clasping one of his arms, and 
kissing his hand, in an agony of grief. An air of 
solemnity and sadness is spread over the faces of all 
the attendants. The dying man alone is unmoved — 
all earthly affections are gone — he is occupied only 
with the cross and the crown of glory. 

Some familiarity with such scenes in the exercise 
of my ministry, made me, in this instance, more 
confident in my judgment ; and I should have had no 
hesitation in pronouncing it a master-piece, though 
I had not known the reputation of the painter. 

March 18th. The desire of seeing a friend, an 
acquaintance, or even a countryman, in a strange 
land, is stronger than those can conceive who have 
never been far from home. It was from a motive of 
this kind that I made many inquiries of the ecclesi- 
astics whom I met, after Mr. Barber, all of which 
were fruitless. The conversion of a Protestant cler- 
gyman, in a distant country, it could hardly be ex- 
pected would be much known at Rome, though it 
was an event of such rare occurrence as to have ex- 
cited much notice at home. At length a layman, to 
whom I applied for information, took me to the col- 
lege of the Jesuits, as a place where a Jesuit might 
most easily be found. 1 here inquired again for Mr. 
Barber, The porter, who was a member of the order, 
told me that no person of that name belonged to the 
institution. After a moment's pause, he suddenly 
said, as if recollecting himself, perhaps you mean Sig- 
nori Barberini? It may be, I replied. On being con- 
ducted to this person's room, 1 found him whom I had 
sought, transformed in appearance as well as name. 

HOME. 12* 

He received me with great cordiality and joy, but 
without any wonder or surprise. I spent a short 
time with him very pleasantly. He spoke with free- 
dom of the rites and ceremonies of his adopted re- 
ligion, but with perfect delicacy, and the most stu- 
died regard to my feelings. There was even a libe- 
rality in censuring what he thought blame-worthy ? 
which was somewhat surprising in a new convert. 

A hard bed, laid on bare planks, a table, a desk, 
two or three chairs, a small crucifix, and the pictures 
of some Romish saints, were all the articles with 
which his solitary chamber was furnished. He was 
dressed in the coarse black cassock, which is the 
habit of his order; the crown of his head was shaved, 
and both in his countenance and in all the objects 
around him, there was an air of austerity and mor^ 

From the day we came to Rome, which was Palm 
Sunday, the beginning of Passion Week, till Wed- 
nesday, there were no ceremonies to be seen at St. 
Peter's or the Vatican. This evening we went to the 
Sistine chapel, to hear the music. It was rather late 
when we got there, and for this reason, with another 
more weighty, I was afraid I should not gain admis- 
sion- None were allowed to enter unless they were 
in full dress, and I had unfortunately left my small 
clothes at Leghorn. However, 1 pressed through the 
crowd, near the circle of Swiss guards, who stood 
with their halberds around the door. A great many 
were refused on account of their dress ; but one of the 
masters of ceremonies, either being deceived by my 
tight pantaloons, or thinking they came under the 

124 ROME. 

rule, told me to enter. There were so many before 
me, that I could not get near enough to see any thing. 
The vespers were sung in plain chant, and with un- 
usual dulness. The principal object of expectation 
was the celebrated Miserere by Allegri. At length, 
when the psalms were finished, and all the lights 
were extinguished, the choir commenced — Oh! it 
Was like the ravishing harmony of Heaven, if we could 
suppose that the plaintive voice of supplication were 
heard there. Jt thrilled my whole frame, and brought 
tears into my eyes, and kept them there for many 
minutes. Such tenderness, such melody, such uni- 
son, such power and compass of voice, I did not 
suppose possible in human beings. The tones were 
as new as the effect. But what a painful after-thought! 
This music of angels, was from the most humbled 
and degraded of men. 

The Miserere has now been sung in the Sistine 
chapel, on Wednesday and Friday of Holy Week, for 
one hundred and seventy years. It is thought that 
the extraordinary charms of this music are not so 
much owing to the piece itself, as to the traditionary 
glares which have been handed down from one ge- 
neration to another. But neither these improve- 
ments, which are so arbitrary as to be subject to 
perpetual change, and so evanescent as scarcely to 
be retained, nor the long preparation required of all 
who take a part in it, could account for the over- 
whelming effect of the Miserere, were not the com- 
position divine. They are the breathings of Al- 
legri's own soul, repeated in softened and dying 

ROME. 125 

Iii the evening I made a visit, with two or three of 
my friends, to the Coliseum by moonlight. Except- 
ing a guard or two at the entrance, and a few persons 
who had been led there by the same feelings as our- 
selves, there was nothing to interrupt our reflections. 
After looking around awhile from the arena, we went 
above, ranged cautiously through the gloomy corri- 
dors, and at length gained the best and highest point 
from which this stupendous ruin can be viewed. 
Here, the outer wall having fallen, we could dimly 
see at a distance one or two solitary monuments of 
the ancient city From our elevated position, and 
the obscurity of night, the irregularities of the inte- 
riour were in a great measure lost. This vast mass 
of ruins was thrown into shape, the elliptical form 
appeared more perfect and beautiful, the magnitude 
and extent enlarged, and the height more towering 
and majestic. The loftiest part, on our right, was 
buried in deep shade, except where the moon-beams 
broke through the arcades and other apertures, and 
faintly lighted the winding galleries. .They fell with 
full lustre on the other, showing the uneven outline of 
broken walls, and the decayed and falling arches with 
the most charming effect. In such a place, so still, 
so secluded and sublime, could the recollections of 
carnage and tumult have been suppressed; could 
any one purpose to which it had been devoted have 
been referred to the honour or happiness of man ; 
we could not help feeling a kind of melancholy de- 
light bordering on enthusiasm. As it is, we only ad- 
mire the grand and picturesque appearance of these 
mins, We become pensive and thoughtful. The 

126 ROME. 

end of man and his works, the fate of empires, the 
vanity of all earthly glory, is forced upon our minds 
by the solemn emblem before us. We love to in- 
dulge in these feelings. They agitate the heart for a 
moment, but they soon soothe and compose it again. 
We lingered for an hour before we could prevail on 
ourselves to part with the scene or the reflections it 

March 19th. This morning I directed my steps 
again towards the Vatican. The making the holy 
sepulchre in the Pauline chapel; the washing the 
feet of thirteen pilgrims, called apostles, in the Cle- 
mentine hall ; and the waiting on the same by the 
Pope himself, in the Consistory; were among the 
ceremonies of Holy Thursday. There was an im- 
mense press, and an eager and active curiosity to 
see the services of the Holy Week. From this cir- 
cumstance, and from being ignorant that in some 
cases the formality of a ticket was necessary to gain 
admission, I missed several of them. 

In approaching St. Peter's, however, 1 was just in 
time to see the Pope give his blessing, from the bal- 
cony, to a vast multitude assembled in the court 
before it. Every thing is well arranged at Rome, 
and when it is intended to produce an effect, they 
take special pains not to be disappointed. Accord- 
ingly, that the prostration of the people might be 
more reverent and profound, the host was elevated 
when the benediction was pronounced. Many bow- 
ed the knee ; all were uncovered ; and though 
there might not have been much of devout feeling 
in this promiscuous crowd, it was certainly a pom- 

BO MET. 227 

pous and impressive spectacle. But I could not 
help thinking, that these marks of outward devo- 
tion were not merely the humble attitudes suitable 
to sinners, in receiving the blessing of God from 
the mouth of his ministering servant, but, on the 
part of many, an act of homage to a frail mortal, 
invested with attributes above his condition. As he 
was moved back in his chair from the sight of the 
multitude, this persuasion made me feel a degree of 
pity and pain which the occasion might not have 
justified. The errors of the church of Rome ap- 
pear to us so gross that, perhaps, we are scarcely 
qualified to form an unprejudiced judgment even of 
her most innocent and edifying practices. 

In the evening we went again to the Sistine chapel^ 
to hear the Miserere. The singers were the same, 
the music was by another. It was an admirable 
piece, and sung so divinely, that I was scarcely less 
affected by these new strains than by the composi- 
tion of Allegri. 

The Pauline chapel had been illuminated by 
several hundred torches, for the ceremony of the 
holy sepulchre, that were still burning. I passed on 
with the crowd that accompanied Charles IV. late 
king of Spain, who went in to offer up, in this public 
manner, his private adorations. The prince of Ba- 
varia was also a devout and constant attendant on 
the ceremonies of the Holy Week. 

March 20th. On Good Friday we visited the church 
of St. John Lateran. It is said to have been built 
by Con3tantine, though every trace ©f its antiquity is 
lest in modern alterations. 


While we were walking through it, examining the 
tlifferent parts, our ears were saluted with such sweet 
and enchanting sounds, that curiosity was suspended ; 
and it was not till this delightful service was over, 
which went to the heart, that we could attend to 
what merely pleased the eye. The music was nei- 
ther so plaintive, nor so powerful as the Miserere of 
the Vatican, though nothing could surpass it in me- 
lody, in execution, and in its soft and subduing influ- 
ence over the feelings. The notes came upon us 
through the long aisles, in such mellowed tones, and 
with such a charm and effect, as cannot be conceived 
by those who have not heard Italian voices in the 
noblest of churches. 

In the evening we went once more to hear the Mi- 
serere of Allegri. After listening to this incomparable 
piece again with a delight which repetition could not 
pall, we came down from the Sistine chapel to see 
the illuminated cross in St. Peter's. This obvious 
idea, which has been considered as one of the most 
sublime conceptions of Michael Angelo, in our esti- 
mation, would have given no great credit to an hum- 
bler name. It fell altogether short of our expecta- 
tions, in splendour, dimensions, and effect. The lus- 
tre which it threw immediately around, contrasted 
with the obscurity beyond this circle, might have set 
off a venerable Gothic pile, to which dimness and 
gloom are congenial, but the beauty of this gorge- 
ous and magnificent edifice can only appear in full 
light. The delicate colours of the variegated mar- 
bles, the mild radiance of the gilded domes, the un- 
rivalled graces of the Mosaic paintings, the richness 

KOMfi. 129 

and elegance of the sepulchral monuments, the won- 
derful magnitude of the building, which receives no 
increase from artifice or illusion, are lost by shade 
and concealment, and set off only by the dazzling 
blaze of a meridian sun. 

We had not remained long in looking at the cross, 
and the crowds that flocked in to see it, when our 
Italian companion, Mr. Totti, began to show some 
uneasiness. He had hired the coach in which we 
came, till the end of the Miserere, and he was well 
aware that every moment's delay beyond the ap- 
pointed time, would give room for clamour and dis- 
pute, for the hackmen in Rome are very Shylocks in 
a bargain. The price we had agreed to pay was im- 
moderate, but, according to the fears of our friend, on 
our return to the carriage, the knave demanded dou- 
ble. Mr. Totti reasoned calmly with him for a mo- 
ment, but finding that he grew loud and insolent, to 
draw the attention of persons around us, he ordered 
him, in an absolute tone, to drive us to the magistrate. 
The fellow hesitated, but as Totti was determined, 
he reluctantly complied. The case being clearly 
stated, the magistrate declared that the Miserere was 
supposed to end with the Ave Maria, though in fact 
it was three quarters of an hour before, and that, 
therefore, we were not bound to pay him any more 
than the stipulated sum. If we chose to give him a 
trifle for the delay, it was very well: he did not im- 
pose it upon us as an obligation. The coachman, not 
relishing this decision, became impertinent and cla- 
morous in the presence of the judge. But an imperi- 
ous threat to send a carbinier home with him, if he 


330 HOME. 

were not more civil, soon silenced him. He then 
quietly drove us to the Coffee- House, and servilely 
attempted to gain of us by entreaty what he could 
not extort by insolence. Such is the base and de* 
graded character of the common Italians. 

March 21st. To day I attended mass in the Pon- 
tifical palace, on the Quirinal hill, ft was the anni- 
versary of the election of Pius VII. and it was under* 
stood that the Pope himself would assist in the cele- 
bration. Twenty-four Cardinals, who were dressed 
in flowing purple robes, the hoods of which were 
lined with white damask, and whose heads were 
powdered and crowns covered with a circular piece 
of scarlet cloth, took the upper seats on each side of 
the chapel ; the dignitaries next in rank sat below 
them; and the inferior clergy on seats scarcely raised 
above the floor. They had not proceeded far in the 
service before the masters of ceremonies (who on 
this occasion were dressed in black robes, with sea- 
pularies of netted muslin hanging on their shoulders) 
went in to the Cardinals, and, almost in the twinkling 
of an eye,' changed their purple mantles for scarlet 
A few minutes after, the infirm old Pope, a man of a 
mild and meek countenance, and who in his person, 
his features, and especially in his air and manner, 
was not unlike the late Bishop Moore, of New-York, 
was brought in on a chair, and placed upon a throne. 
Bishops (as I supposed) adjusted the folds of his gar- 
ments, Cardinals ministered around him, incense was 
thrown into his face, and every mark of respect short 
of absolute homage, was shown to this vicegerent of 
Heaven. They then went on celebrating the mass 

ROME. 131 

with extraordinary pomp, and the Pope occasionally 
took a part in it with the officiating Cardinal, in a 
low, hollow, and tremulous voice. They both wore 
mitres, which were of a light straw colour, and not 
distinguishable at the distance from which 1 saw 
them, either in their form or appearance. In the 
more solemn parts of the service they were taken off. 
The Cardinals afterwards rose in succession from 
their seats* they advanced towards the Pope, while 
the masters of ceremonies arranged the long train of 
their garments, to prevent entanglement and confu- 
sion ; they bowed profoundly to his holiness, kissed 
his hand, and returned. Two of the inferior clergy 
kissed his foot- During the mass, there was music 
occasionally, but it was less sweet and harmonious 
than common. After the gospel, a Cardinal taking 
a censer, repeated the ceremony of throwing incense 
in the Pope's face, and then did it successively to all 
his brethren. These things were performed with 
grace and dignity. The behaviour of Cardinal Doria 
was singularly composed and devout, and, of the 
greater part, perfectly grave and becoming, though 
I observed, among a few, a considerable degree of 
levity, and, in one or two instances, even while on 
their knees. When mass was ended, the Pope was 
carried out in the same manner as he had been 
brought in. 

In the form and pageantry of this morning's cere- 
monies there was much for the eye; but to those 
unacquainted with the significance and grounds of 
them, there seemed to be little for the heart and un- 
derstanding. On, descending, the court was filled 

132 ROME. 

with the gaudy carriages of these ecclesiastical dig- 
nitaries, and we were as strongly reminded below of 
the vanities of this world, as above of the solemn 
realities of another. 

In the evening we went to Trinity Church of the 
Pilgrims, to see these humble men of the staff and 
beads served by Cardinals and nobles. Preparations 
were made for washing their feet and satisfying their 
stomachs, but the spiritual lords showed no love of 
this employment, and neither poverty of spirit, nor 
the ostentation of it, could bring a single one of them 
there, to assist at so edifying a spectacle. A few 
young men, and some laymen of distinction, washed 
the feet of these followers of St. Philip, and then 
kissed them in token of humility and brotherly love, 
but with a fastidiousness justly warranted, even after 
this ablution. They then waited on them at sup- 
per, embarrassing the poor pilgrims by this unwont- 
ed service, though without taking off the edge of 
their appetites. These were always either keen and 
active, or else they had been held in requisition for 
the occasion. 

March 22d. This being Easter Sunday, we pressed 
forward with all the world to St. Peter's. From the 
immense crowd which thronged it, and the confused 
noise of a promiscuous multitude, the greater part 
could neither see nor hear any thing. A glimpse of 
the Pope's mitre, and a few notes from the choir, mix- 
ed with the shuffling, whispering, and conversation 
of thousands, was all that could be gained by the ut- 
most straining of eyes and ears. After many fruitless 
efforts to obtain a more perfect gratification, I went 

ROME. 133 

to secure a good place for seeing every thing at the 
benediction, but thus lost sight of the stately pro- 
cession in which the Pope was carried out of the 
church, made up of all that was illustrious in that 
vast assembly, princes, nobles, cardinals, and bishops. 
I mounted one of the colossal statues on the colon- 
nade, between seventy and eighty feet above the 
ground, and, from this giddy elevation, had a fine 
view of the front of St. Peter's and of the court. The 
Pope's guards, consisting of about six hundred horse- 
men, were drawn up in three sides of a hollow square, 
a little below the porch. This quadrangular enclo- 
sure was vacant, but the space between them and 
the church, the whole of the circular court without, 
the roofs of the colonnade, the street which leads to 
the castle of St. Angelo, the doors and windows of 
the neighbouring houses, were filled with people ; 
and such a vast multitude of all ages, sexes, and 
conditions, so variously grouped, in holiday attire, 
"darting their desiring eyes" upon the Pope, and at- 
tending his motions with eager expectation, presented 
a spectacle which, without the aid of a religious so- 
lemnity, would have been exceedingly grand and 
imposing. As soon as the Pope appeared at the bal- 
cony, the host was elevated, the benediction was 
given, some prostrated themselves, and all were un- 
covered, the cannons fired at the castle of St. Angelo, 
the trumpets sounded, and these acts and ceremonies 
of religion were accompanied with all " the pomp and 
circumstance" of worldly rejoicing. 

In the evening the front and dome of St. Peter's 
were illuminated with taste, but not with much glare 

134 HOME. 

or effect While we were observing the preparations 
for it, one of our company entered into conversation 
with a well dressed Italian, who was standing near 
us. He answered some questions about the illumina- 
tion very civilly, and with a ready loquacity made 
such other communications as he thought might be 
gratifying. But never was there a people so keen 
for money. No sooner had he finished, than he re- 
quested something for his trouble. 

I did not wait for the second illumination, which 
is commonly more brilliant, as it began to be rainy 
and unpleasant; but I had a fine view, from the Pin- 
cian hill, of this beautiful and dazzling exhibition. 
Fire-works at the castle of St. Angelo closed the 
amusements of this sacred festival. 

This was L.n interesting week at Rome, not merely 
on account of the ceremonies which have been no- 
ticed, but from the great concourse of strangers from 
every part of Europe, and even from America. The 
streets and public places were thronged, and this an- 
cient and fallen city, to which we are accustomed to 
attach the ideas of solitude and desertion, was ani- 
mated with the activity and bustle of her better days. 
The gay carriages of visitors; the still more gaudy 
equipages of the cardinals, bishops, and nobles of 
Rome ; the multitude of hacks which carried persons 
of less note and consequence; pressed along with 
rival eagerness, putting every humble foot passenger 
on the alert, and sometimes driving him so close to 
the wall, as scarcely to allow him the chance of es- 
caping. For as the streets are without side- walks, 
and often so narrow as just to admit two carriages 

HOME. 136 

abreast, there is really difficulty and danger in get- 
ting along. The liveried gentry pay little regard 
to the safety or affright of those below them, and 
each one learns to take care of himself when closely 
pressed, and to gain a timely shelter in a gateway, 
portico, or any recess which is nearest at hand. 
One or two coachmen, two, and sometimes three 
footmen, (and occasionally two bare-headed avant- 
coureurs, or heralds, holding silver verges in their 
hands, and running before with the speed of the 
horses,) are the usual appendages of every carriage. 
Each family has its appropriate livery ; but though 
they differ in the style of their decorations, yet the 
cocked hat, the powdered head, or bag wig, and the 
party coloured dress of Merry Andrews, are com- 
mon to all. This tinsel show and real spIendour 3 
this haste and confusion, this mixture of high and 
low in the pursuit of the same objects, this holiday 
recreation, in which all were so busy and yet so idle, 
made a most lively and amusing scene. Some things 
were impressive and affecting, but still the Holy 
Week at Rome is more like a carnival than the sea- 
son of our Saviour's death and passion. 

March 23d. The religious solemnities having 
ended with Easter, we had now an opportunity of 
renewing our attention to the antiquities and curi- 
osities of Rome. This morning we rode out of the 
walls of the city to the tomb of Cecilia Metella, the 
wife of Crassus the Triumvir. This beautiful sepul- 
chral monument is situated on a slight eminence, at 
the side of the Appian-way. The material of which 
it is built is a light brown stone, the form of it is 

133 ROME. 

circular, and, under the frieze of an elegant entabla* 
ture, a wreath of festoons and oxen's heads runs 
around it. Battlemented walls were raised on the 
top of this tomb, in the middle ages, by the Gaetan 
tiy, and this peaceful abode of the dead was con- 
vened into a place of tumult and blood. The sar- 
cophagus of Greek marble which was found within 
moved to the Farnese palace, and nothing is now 
to be seen but an empty cone, fallen in at the top, 
I fringed around with shrubs and vines. From 
'.'.'omlerful thickness and great simplicity of this 
ire, it is not surprising that it presents so few 
of age and decay. It is connected with the 
f ah old castle, ivy creeps over both, weeds 
irables grow out of the crevices, and hangover 
walls, and the whole has an air of solitude and 

i timing we observed some traces of the Ap- 

r y, and stopped for a few minutes below at 

us and stables of Caracalla. 

The Basilica of St. Sebastian, one of the seven 

I hurches of Rome, is nearly opposite. It is 

i over the mouth of the famous catacombs where 

the primitive Christians were accustomed to bury 

their martyrs, and to retreat in times of persecution. 

They are long galleries, branching out in different 

directions. Being furnished with torches, we went 

vn into the labyrinth, and saw the chapel where 

the afflicted disciples of Christ had been compelled 

to perform the pure rites of the Gospel, as if they 

were mysteries of iniquity. We penetrated a short 

distance into these subterraneous windings, but 

lioM& t 137 

'amidst the dampness and gloom, a regard to our 
health prevailed over curiosity, and we soon re- 

Among the remnants of Roman grandeur there 
are few more remarkable than the baths of Titus, in 
the immediate neighbourhood of the Coliseum. 
They were originally of great extent, and large ad- 
ditions were made to them by several successive 
emperors. Besides the convenience and luxury of 
bathing, these thermce were places of elegant amuse- 
ment. Here were academies, where philosophers 
taught the doctrines of their schools; exedrm, where 
orators declaimed; libraries, for the lovers of lite- 
rature ; porticos, for the conversation and lounging of 
the idle; open courts, for athletic exercises; temples, 
for the worship of the gods. The lower story was 
strictly appropriated to bathing, and this is all that 
remains of the baths of Titus. Till lately even this 
was buried under ground. The cells and halls were 
either filled with earth, or shut out from communi- 
cation with the galleries, which were choaked with 
rubbish. But by the liberal and active exertions of 
the French, a considerable part has been cleared, 
and we can now form some idea of the distribu- 
tion and arrangement of the whole. We passed 
through the long; and lofty corridors, examined the 
apartments assigned to the common people, where 
each person was accommodated with a bathing-room 
and dressing-chamber, and then entered into the 
more spacious halls reserved for the great. We were 
astonished by the extent of what we saw, though so 
much was concealed. Some vestiges of the rick- 


IStf ROMfi. 

ness and splendour of this fabrick can still be seen 
in the fragments of precious marbles which covered 
the floors and walls, and in the delicate and fanci- 
ful arabesque paintings on the vaulted ceilings. 
By the help of lighted torches, lifted up on poles, 
we were enabled to examine these singular deco- 
rations of ancient art. Notwithstanding the extreme 
humidity of the place, and the revolution of so many 
ages, the gilding is hardly dimmed, and the colours 
have lost but little of their freshness. In some 
places they are so bright, that it scarcely seems as 
if as many years could have passed over them as 
centuries. The celebrated group of Laocoon was 
found here. Nothing remains in the naked cham- 
bers except an immense basin of granite, which 
stands in the centre of the royal apartment, and, in 
a room above, a collection of vases and amphorae, 
of broken capitals, friezes, and cornices. There is 
another thing here too interesting to be omitted. 
The house of Maecenas was first comprehended in 
the palace of Nero, which was converted into these 
"baths by the Emperor Titus. Some parts of the 
portico are still pointed out. It is only the conjecture 
of antiquarians, but very often in these matters we 
can have no better authority. 

The baths of Caracalla, near the Ccelian mount, 
were more than a quarter of a mile square. They 
were divided into three stories, and contained one 
thousand six hundred cells for bathing. The first 
is buried under ground. A considerable part of the 
second is still standing, though deprived of every 
ornament, and exhibiting no reliques of its former 

ROME. 139 

magnificence, but the immense size of the apartments 
and the vast space covered by the ruins. We can 
trace here two extensive courts which were surround- 
ed with porticos ; the Cella Solearis, once so cele- 
brated for its costly embellishments, and even now 
so astonishing by its magnitude ; and another large 
hail, which was supported by eight columns of granite, 
like the Pinacotheca in the baths of Diocletian. 
These include a space of seven hundred feet in length 
and three hundred in breadth. Though nothing is 
seen but the broken and naked brick walls, the place 
is full of interest. Trees are scattered through the 
empty halls, brambles in some places choak up the 
path made by the visitors, and thick rank grass covers 
the rest. Vines and briers run along the top of the 
walls, and hang over the falling arches. Whilst ram- 
bling among these remnants of ancient greatness, 
in a place so solitary and deserted, the vicissitudes 
of human things obtrude their salutary lesson upon 
the mind, with a force which the most unthinking 
cannot resist. 

The famous Torso of Belvedere, the Flora at Na- 
ples, the Hercules of Glycon, and the Farnesian bull, 
were found in these baths. 

The Thermte of Diocletian were also immense. 
Two of the large halls still exist. One of these, which 
is now converted into the church of Sainte Marie des 
Anges, is perfectly well preserved, though somewhat 
metamorphosed by modern alterations. It was in this 
grand hall, which is three hundred and fifty feet long, 
eighty feet wide, and ninety feet high, that the most 
precious works of painting and sculpture were collect- 

140 HOME. 

ed together ; and from this circumstance it was called 
the Pmacotheca. The vault is supported by eight 
massive pillars, five feet and a half in diameter, and 
more than forty feet in height, each composed of a 
single block of granite. Jn a circular vestibule, at 
the entrance that forms a part of the transept, are ihe 
tombs of Salvator Rosa and Charles Maratti. The 
modern additions were, for the most part, made under 
the direction of Michael Angelo Buonarotti, and bear 
the impress of his genius and taste. A meridian is 
marked out on the pavement in brass, bordered with 
representations in marble of the different signs of the 
zodiac. In the repairs of later times, there has been 
such an adaptation to the ancient edifice, as to give 
it an uniform appearance. Excepting the Pantheon, 
there is nothing so well preserved among all the ruins 
of Rome, and though it fall short of the purity of 
the Augustan age, yet in vastness, simplicity, gran- 
deur, and effect, it comes near to the great concep- 
tions of that celebrated esra. 

In reading of the Caesars we get some ideas of their 
extravagance, luxury, and frantic ambition; but it is 
in beholding the extensive and majestic remains of 
these different baths, that they are raised to the high- 
est pitch. We are astonished at the wealth and pomp 
of Imperial Rome, and at the elegance and refine- 
ment of her pleasures. 

It would be as troublesome as uninteresting to 
enter into a minute description of several other ruins 
which are scattered through the city and environs; 
the forum of Nerva, the fountain of Egeria, the arches 
of Janus Quadrifons, of Gallienus, and Drusus ; the 

ROME. 141 

temples of Romulus and Remus, of Bacchus, Vesta, 
and Pallas. A few, however, merit some slight no- 

The sumptuous edifices raised for the vanily and 
pleasure of the living were almost equalled by the 
proud mausoleums of the dead. 

The tomb of Augustus I did not see. That of Ad- 
rian, which was intended to eclipse it, is in a more 
perfect state, though it is stripped of the marble 
with which it was incased, and though the superb pil- 
lars which formed the colonnade around it, now lend 
their glory to the nave of St. Paul's. The lofty and 
solid foundation, and the circular edifice above, still 
show the vast dimensions, though not the incompar- 
able beau(y, of this stately sepulchre. 

In the decline of the empire, when Rome was be- 
set by enemies, Relisarius, who was full of courage 
and resources, raised battlements on the ruin, and 
turned it into a castle. It is still used as a fortifica- 
tion. The beautiful bridge in front is supported by 
five arches, and surmounted by ten statues of angels, 
holding in their hands the cross, the crown of thorns, 
and the other instruments of our Saviour's passion. 
From this point the castle of St. Angelo is a noble 
and striking object, and the view is made still 
more interesting by the buildings winding along the 
Tiber, and the glimpse of the dome and front of St. 

The tomb of Caius Cestius has preserved " a name 
unknown to history," and given him a rank among 
the dead which he does not appear to have held 
among the Jiving. This monument is of a pyramid 

142 ROME. 

dal form. It is eighty feet square at the base, and 
one hundred and twenty feet high. The walls are 
of immense thickness, and, excepting the small se- 
pulchral chamber, they form a solid mass, which 
seems to be proof against destruction. The outer 
coating is of white marble. The interiour is orna- 
mented with paintings, which still retain a surprising 
freshness. The situation of this monument is singu- 
lar and picturesque. The walls of the city are in- 
terrupted by it in their course, and it, therefore, forms 
a part of them, though its tapering summit rises to 
triple their height. A little farther on, to the left, are 
two ancient towers. At the foot of the pyramid, in 
the spot appropriated to the burial of Protestants, are 
the simple monuments of those travellers who have 
here ended their pilgrimage ; who came in pursuit 
of health, and found a grave, or to see those wonders 
which they have died without relating. The solitary 
fields around sadly harmonize with these memorials 
of the departed. And, within the enclosure of a 
mighty city, we have a scene as secluded and peace- 
ful as in the bosom of the country. 

I here observed the tomb of Mrs. James M'Evers, 
who died at Velletri ; another, of a Mrs. Temple, who 
was born in Rhode-Island, and married an English 
baronet; and a third, of a son of the Baron de Hum- 

It was not without interest that we visited the fa- 
mily sepulchre of the Scipios. In passing through 
the subterraneous windings we saw many inscriptions 
in honour of this illustrious name, but no notice of 
those whom history has made immortal. The sarco- 

ROME. 145 

phagus of Lucius Scipio Barbatus, the conqueror of 
the Sarnnites and the Lucanians, which was found 
here has been removed to the Vatican. 

There are but few remains of the times of the Re- 
public. Two or three, however, are anterior. The 
temple of Fortuna Virilis carries back our thoughts to 
the infancy of the Roman state, and has that air of 
simplicity which we may suppose to have prevailed 
in the days of Servius Tullius, when it was built. 
And the Cloaca Maxima, which is formed of huge 
stones, put together without cramp or cement, is ap- 
parently as firm and perfect as when it was com- 
pleted by Tarquin the Proud. 

Two of the pillars of the ancient city still remain 
in modern Rome. The column of Antoninus was 
originally raised in commemoration of the victories 
of Marcus Aurelius over the Marcomanni and other 
people of Germany. These are represented on it 
very minutely, and the multitude of figures intro- 
duced, literally cover the column, which is twelve 
feet in diameter, and nearly one hundred in height. 
The whole elevation, including the pedestal and 
statue of St. Paul on the top, is one hundred and 
fifty feet. 

The column of Trajan is of about the same di- 
mensions, but very superior in the correctness, ele- 
gance, and finish of the sculptured ornaments. The 
wars of this emperor with the Daci, his victories, tri- 
umphal processions, and sacrifices to the gods, are 
here traced out in a succession of basso relievos^ 
winding spirally around the pillar. 

This noble monument stands in the forum of Tra- 

144 KOME. 

jan. Till lately nothing had been seen, for centu- 
ries, of the temple, the porticos, the basilica, and 
the Ulpian library, which once surrounded the co- 
lumn. But the recent excavations have done some- 
thing for the gratification of the curious. The 
pavement of the forum, which was buried about 
twelve feet under ground, is now exposed to view. 
Many beautiful fragments have been discovered, 
and forty broken pillars of gray granite, which 
formed the portico of the basilica, are placed again 
on their bases. 

Rome not only reminds us of her former glory by 
these splendid remains, but, by the spoils and tro- 
phies of her victories, carries back our thoughts to 
other nations, whose sun had set before hers had 
risen. Here are those Egyptian obelisks which were 
raised in the time of Sesostris, when history was 
sung; by poets, and Rome was without a name. The 
largest of these stands in the square of St. John La- 
teran. It is more than a hundred feet in height, and 
was originally composed of a single block of red 
granite. Mow might the hieroglyphics which cover 
it delight the antiquarian, if they did not baffle his 
researches ! Three thousand years ago this obelisk 
stood in the city of Thebes. What an effort of power 
and skill, to transport this enormous mass to a place 
so distant! After having been raised again in the 
Circus Maximus, it was overthrown and broken in its 
fall. For ages it remained under ground, till at 
length it was discovered, dug up, and finally erected 
by Sixius V. on the commanding site where it now 
stands. There are ten of these Egyptian obelisks in 


different parts of the city, most of which are inferior 
in size, but all equally venerable for their antiquity. 
" The wonderful charm of Rome is not merely from 
the beauty of its monuments, but from the interest- 
ing thoughts which they inspire." 


March 30th. Having by this time satisfied the 
first cravings of curiosity, we set out for Tivoli, in 
the neighbourhood. We stopped about a mile from 
the gate to see the church of St. Lorenzo. This ba- 
silica, which is said to have been built by Constan- 
tino the Great, is rich in ornaments, but without taste 
in the arrangement, or uniformity in the style. 

On entering the church we met with one of our 
acquaintances and countrymen, who was a Roman 
Catholic. He observed to me that, according to Vasi, 
whose itinerary he had in his hand, the body of St. 
Stephen laid here; but the hesitating manner with 
which he referred to his authority, showed that he 
was not much more credulous than myself on this 

About two miles from St. Lorenzo we crossed the 
Teverone, anciently the Anio, which is here a slug- 
gish stream, with low and naked banks. We passed 
on through the flat and deserted Campagna, where a 
scanty pasturage, with a few shepherds and their 
flocks, some shapeless ruins scattered over the plains, 
and an occasional farm house or cot, were the only 



objects that could be seen, except in the distant view, 
for several leagues. In the course of our journey we 
rode over a part of the ancient Via Tiburtina. It is 
paved with large irregular stones, so worn and dis- 
placed by time as to render it very uncomfortable 
to the traveller, however gratifying it may be to the 

At the distance often miles from Rome, on the 
left of the road, we got out of our carriage to exa- 
mine the Tartar lake. It is so called from a deposit of 
tartar made by its waters on the different vegetable 
substances which grow in it. The reeds and rushes 
around the lake are all converted into masses of pet- 
rifaction. In some instances they stand detached 
from each other, and perfectly retain their form ? 
though their properties are changed. 

Shortly after we crossed the canal which carries 
off the superabundant waters from the sulphureous 
lake, supposed to be the Albunea of Horace, and the 
scene of some of the poetical fables of Virgil. The 
air here was strongly impregnated with offensive ex- 
halations from the lake and stream. 

The country improved as we drew nearer to Ti- 
voli, and at the Ponte Lugano it is so beautiful, that 
Poussin has taken from it one of his finest land- 
scapes. The Teverone flows here with more rapidi- 
ty ; hilly grounds rise from the plain to the right ; 
before us was the elegant circular tomb of the Hau- 
tian family, surmounted by a battlement of the mid- 
die ages, and half concealed with mantling ivy; far- 
ther on the orchards were in full blossom ; and above 
them were the site and ruins of Adrian's villa, Tivoli ; 
and the Sabine mountains. 


Whilst dinner was preparing, we went out to see 
some of the antiquities of Tivoli and the fails of the 
Anio. The beautiful temple of the Sibyll stands in 
the yard of the Sibilla inn. It is a small but well 
proportioned rotundo, with the remains of a circular 
colonnade of the Corinthian order. The situation of 
this ruin, on a cliff overhanging the dark gulf that re- 
ceives the waters of the Anio, and the many interest- 
ing associations which it awakens, give it an inexr 
pressible charm. Some ancient pillars are incorpo- 
rated with the modern church of St. George, adjoin- 
ing the temple. From this spot we had a view of 
the grand cascade, coming down in one broad sheet, 
and rushing below over its rocky bed with noise and 

We then descended into the deep ravine where 
the river is precipitated a second time. The banks 
rise up perpendicularly to a great height, and small 
gardens are spread over the sloping grounds above. 
On the left, the waters gush through a passage 
worn in the solid rock, which appear a few feet, 
are again hidden for a moment, and then fall into 
the chasm beneath. The temple of the Sibyll, 
on the edge of the rock at the right, forms a most 
appropriate ornament to a spot so romantic. Hurry- 
ing along the pathway sprinkled by the spray, we 
came to the grotto of Neptune, where, through a na- 
tural aperture, with a bold and regular arch, we had 
a partial view of a larger stream bursting out with 
foam and fury from another subterraneous passage. 
We soon stood directly oyer it, and saw the torrent 
forcing its way with indescribable impetuosity through 


a rough and obstructed channel, making us almosl 
giddy with the sight, and stunning us with its roar. 
The two falls then unite, and the river tumbles from 
rock to rock till it is again concealed in its course, 
and makes another plunge into the deep bed below. 
As we crossed the natural bridge under which it pas- 
ses, we saw it once more with all its anger spent, 
and gliding along in peace. Beyond this narrow 
outlet the valley was enlarged. Vineyards, olive 
trees, and smooth green spots bordered the precipitous 
banks of the river, when suddenly this gentle appear- 
ance again was lost, and an amphitheatre of gray and 
barren mountains rose to a noble elevation around 
us. The most glowing descriptions of poetry or ro- 
mance never awakened in me a conception that 
equalled this lovely reality. Such unrivalled beauty 
uniting with such wildness and grandeur might have 
justified even a more enthusiastick delight than that 
expressed by Horace. 

" Me nee tarn patiens Lacedaemon, 
ff Nee tam Larissx peicussit campus opiraae, 

" Quam domus Albuneae resonantis, 
" Et preeceps Anio, et Tiburni lucus, et uda 

" Mobilibus pomai'ia rivis." 

After dinner we clambered up monte Catillo, to 
enjoy the mild glories of the setting sun. The Teve- 
rone flowed at our feet, through a deep and winding 
dell ; the Sabine hills stretched along to the north- 
east ; a small town crowned the solitary peak of a 
distant mountain ; and the Campagna extended itself 
before us like a boundless ocean, where all things 
were dim and indistinct but the vast dome of St. 
Peter's, which makes itself conspicuous when every 


other object around is lost. We lingered here for 
some time, and after the sun had set, we went down 
to see the falls in a different point of view. The val- 
ley was now covered with a deeper shade, the bright 
colours of the western sky were changed into a red- 
dish glare, and nothing could be discerned at a dis- 
tance but the faint outlines of the mountains. The 
softened light of the evening appearing through the 
columns of the temple of the Sibyll, made this ruin 
more striking than ever. All was still about us, 
excepting the roaring of the waters. A painter or a 
poet might have improved this moment, but we could 
only enjoy it. 

The next morning we set out for the tour of the 
hills. We were most sorrily mounted on mules and 
jackasses, whose garniture was still more ragged and 
uncouth than the animals themselves. Crossing 
the bridge, we took a circuit around the sides of 
mount Catillo. The road follows the bend of the 
river, keeping closely on the steep and elevated 
banks ; and as we pursued its course, we soon had a 
glimpse, in the turning of the valley, of the lower 
falls, which are called the Cascatelli. We alighted 
at the church of St. Anthony, to see the foundations 
of a house which go under the name of the Villa of 
Vopiscus. Some arched passages, a little farther on, 
called Quintigliolo, are supposed to be the ruins of 
the country seat of Quintilius Varus. While we were 
rambling among them, a boy came up to me and 
offered something for sale; but as this is a very com- 
mon annoyance, I paid no attention to him, and sent 
him to Mr. Totti. He bought it with eagerness, 


for a trifling sum, and showed a most extravagant 
joy at his purchase. It turned out to be a golden 
medal of the reign of Trajan, which the boy had 
found in ploughing a neighbouring field The in- 
scription and impression were quite distinct ; and, 
apart from the value it would acquire if there were a 
vacancy in the series of imperial heads in any cabi- 
net, its intrinsic worth was ten times as much as it 
cost. We were greatly amused, during the day, by 
his frequent examination of his treasure, and by his 
looks and expressions of delight. 

Below these ruins there is a full view of all the 
Cascatelli. They fall in five different sheets from 
the lofty precipice that bounds Tivoli to the north. 
The river from which they were withdrawn in the 
town, and which had lost them for a moment in 
its windings round the hill, now passes immedi- 
ately beneath, and again unites with them in one 
rapid stream. The first of these cascades is sin- 
gularly beautiful. Just above the spot where it 
falls, the Teverone rushes through a narrow pas- 
sage, and plunges over a rock in one mass. The 
second, which is of less elevation, tumbles from the 
same bank, a little below. And the other three come 
through the lowest range of arches of the villa of 
Maecenas, still farther down. This fine ruin, consist- 
ing of a double row of lofty Dorick arcades, so com- 
mandingly situated on the brow of the hill, with so 
many streams gushing from it, is, of itself, a charm- 
ing picture; but the church, the dwellings, the gar* 
dens, and orchards that just appear on the height 
above; the banks thickly wooded or covered with 


brambles, ivy, and moss; the silvery foam of the up- 
per cascades ; the torrent beneath, bounding impe- 
tuously over its rocky bed ; the softer and more 
peaceful scenery on this side of the river ; the moun- 
tains in the back ground, and the expanding view of 
the Campagna in front ; form such a landscape as 
painters endeavour to copy, poets to sing, and every 
visitor to describe, but where all attempts must fail. 
The opening spring lent new beauties to this incom- 
parable valley, and I never remember a ramble so 
delightful as the tour of the hills of Tivoli. 

We afterwards visited the villa of Adrian. Anti- 
quarians think they can discover here the remains of 
the Pcecile, where stoics were accustomed to walk 
and discuss the doctrines of their sect ; of a Greek 
theatre, the temple of Serapis, the library, the ther- 
mce, the quarters of the legionary soldiers, and the 
imperial palace. They point out the vale of Tempe, 
Tartarus, and the Elysian fields. The original plan 
of this magnificent villa is unknown. Something 
may be rightly conjectured, but nothing can be as- 
certained with certainty. The numerous buildings 
in this royal retreat, and the grounds about them, 
comprehended a space of several miles in cir- 
cumference. What we still see disposes us to believe 
that there is no exaggeration in the accounts which 
we have received. From the rare statues, the beau- 
tiful columns, the rich mosaics, and other precious 
things that have been found here, and are now exhi- 
bited in the galleries at Rome, it would appear that 
the extent of this villa was not more astonishing than 
its splendour. At present cultivated fields, orchards. 

152 ROME. 

and forest trees, are enclosed within these ruins. 
Shrubs, and brambles, and thorns, choak up some 
of the apartments, and others are encumbered with 
rubbish. Grass overspreads the subterraneous gal- 
leries, and evergreens creep over the falling walls 
and crumbling arches. Amidst these reliques of 
earthly greatness a thoughtful melancholy steals up- 
on the mind, in which it delights to indulge. The 
objects themselves also present the most picturesque 
views, and sometimes receive a reflective beauty from 
occasional glimpses of the Alban hills, of Rome, and 
the towns and villages on the neighbouring moun- 

On our return we visited the villa of Maecenas, and, 
from the terrace above, contemplated the same 
scenery, under a new aspect. After dinner we went 
to see the modern villa Estense, built by Cardinal 
Hippolito, son of Alphonso, Duke of Ferrara. The 
ornaments of the garden are forced and unnatural, 
and the palace naked and deserted, but the situation 
is enchanting. We remained another night at Ti- 
voli, and- then returned to Rome. 


April 2d. On the following day we rode out of 
the city to the villa Pamfili, now belonging to the 
Doria family. The grounds are very extensive, but 
the walks are too regular, and the trees and shrub- 
bery too artificially arranged and trimmed to please 

ROME. 153 

an admirer of nature. A large grove of pines, how- 
ever, the lower branches of which are cut off, leaving 
only a spreading umbrella, and whose tufted tops 
meeting together present from above a rich green 
carpet, is still agreeable notwithstanding its formality 
and stiffness. 

On our return we alighted at the Corsini palace, 
and, in going up to the gallery, remained for a mo- 
ment at one of the balconies, to see the beautiful gar- 
den extending along the side of the Janiculum. 

The first picture which struck me, was the Ecce 
Homo of Guercino. It was our Saviour crowned with 
thorns, and undergoing; those agonies which entitled 
him to the name of the Man of Sorrows. We are not to 
imagine that he, who was touched with the feeling of 
our infirmities, should manifiest no sensibility to his 
own sufferings. But here, the dignity and firmness 
of his character are entirely lost in human weakness. 

I called the attention of Totti to the supposed de- 
fects of this piece. He treated my criticisms with 
the contempt of which, perhaps, they were deserv- 
ing, and made no other reply than a taunting re- 
buke — Do you think such a man as Guercino could 
be mistaken in the expression which suited a suffering 
Saviour ? 

A second piece of our Saviour crowned with thorng ? 
is the work of one of the sweetest of all painters, Carlo 
Dolce. The loveliness, the meekness, the patience., 
and all the milder attributes of mortals, were within 
his reach. But who can represent the same attri- 
butes in the Son of God, influenced by the high and 
ineffable union of his divine nature with his human ? 


154 ROM*!. 

Here the imagination may and does conceive some- 
thing, but the pencil utterly fails. 

The Farnese palace owes its majesty to the bold 
genius of Michael Angelo, and its beauty to Dome- 
nichino and Annibal Caracci. The materials with 
which it was built were chiefly taken from the Coli- 
seum. The three galleries of the inner court are 
adorned by the three different orders of architecture, 
but the Hercules of Glycon, the celebrated Flora, 
and other valuable remains of antiquity which once 
rendered this palace so interesting, are now removed 
to Naples. 

The care of this deserted mansion is left to ser- 
vants. The apartment painted by Annibal Caracci 
is considered the most admirable of his works, though 
it is without comparison the most exceptionable ex- 
hibition in Rome. There is such beauty and grace 
however in the several groups, that if disgust does 
not immediately chastise the imagination, purity and 
innocence are sullied. The subjects upon which 
the painter has wasted his genius, are all drawn from 
" the elegant mythology of the heathens," upon 
which an historian* has prostituted his praises. 

The Farnese gardens, belonging to the royal family 
of Naples, are spread over the ruins of the palace of 
the Csesars. Of this immense edifice litile more is 
left than the foundations, covered with a deep soil, 
and running out into a rank and luxuriant vegeta- 

We went down into the baths of Li via by the light 

* Gibbon, 

ROME* 155 

of torches, and were once more surprised by the 
brightness of the gilded stucco, and arabesque paint- 

We made repeated visits to the villa Borghese, 
which is just without the walls of Rome. The grounds, 
comprehending a space of three miles in circumfer- 
ence, present the most pleasing variety in their sur- 
face and appearance. Here, groves of forest trees 
are left to the careless growth of nature. There, they 
are intermingled with shrubbery, set out for ornament 
and effect. The formality of the avenues is occasion- 
ally broken by a winding path, which seems to have 
been trodden by chance. In riding through them 
to the palace itself, we pass a race ground, a church, 
a coffee house, and several neat and handsome build- 
ings, designed either for the pleasure of the owner, 
or for the use of those employed on the estate. At 
the intersection of different walks, we meet with re- 
freshing fountains pouring out perpetual streams. 
The small and graceful temple of Diana is seen in 
one vista, and an imitation of the ruins of the temple 
of Antoninus and Faustina in another. But the most 
pleasant part of this villa is a kind of artificial wilder- 
ness, near the entrance, through which we are lead 
by irregular tracks to a small lake. Ancient funeral 
monuments, busts, and statues, are scattered through 
the wood. In emerging from it the temple of iEscu- 
lapius appears, and beyond the lake there is a fine 
view of monte Mario, the Vatican, and St. Peter's. 

In this spot the wildness and negligence of na- 
ture were delightfully blended with the arrange- 
ments of art. It had such an air of seclusion and 

156 ROME. 

such a sweet tranquillity, that we were never tired in 
rambling over it, and every new visit only heightened 
the charms of this lovely retreat. 

The mansion of the Prince is profusely orna- 
mented without, but within it is more elegant and 
* stately. The inestimable collection of ancient busts 
and statues with which it was once enriched, now form 
the chief glory of the Louvre. Being given or sold 
to Bonaparte, the general restoration has done no- 
thing for these empty halls, and the group of Daphne 
chased by Apollo, is almost the only master-piece 
that remains. 

This noble villa is suffering from the absence of 
the owner. Partly, it is said, from the offence taken 
at the Pope, who remonstrated against his making 
a seraglio of this princely abode, and, partly, from 
the growing unhealthiness of the neighbourhood, 
he has entirely deserted it, and fixed his residence 
at Florence. With a liberality which can hardly 
be felt in Italy, because it is so common, this villa 
is open to all persons and at all times. The polite 
and the vulgar, the citizen and stranger, may en- 
ter it with the same freedom as the master. And 
in an inscription on the pedestal of an ancient statue 
this general invitation is courteously given. 

" Villce Burphesia Pinciance custos hcec edico. 
Quisquis es, si liber, legum compedes ne hie timeas. 
Ito quo voles, petito quae cupis, abito quando voles. 
Exteris magis hcec parantur quam hero. In aureu se- 
culo, ubi cuncta aurea, lemporum securitas fecit. Bene 
moralu huspitiferreas leges prcejigere hems vetat. Sit 
hie amico pro lege honesta voluntas, Verum si quis 

ROME. 157 

dolomalo, lubens sciens, aureas urbanitatis leges /rege- 
nt, caveat ne sibi tesseram amicace subiratus vilicus 
adversum frangat." 

It may easily be supposed that the multitude of 
things already described, gave us full occupation 
during a short visit of only a few weeks. 

Our mode of living was agreeable, because it was 
so easy and independent. {Sometimes we took our 
breakfast at home, and at others at the CorTee-House. 
When our rambles carried us out of the way, we 
would stop and dine at a Restaurateur's, or, when it 
suited us, we would take a seat at the table achate in 
our own hotel. In the evening we frequently whiled 
away the time in the ( 'afe ntuf, selecting something 
out of the various refreshments, and watching, unob- 
served, amidst the immense and ever shifting crowd, 
the different parties, of both sexes and all nations, 
that passed before us. Several of the rooms in this 
grand and extensive establishment are appropriated 
to those who come to take coffee and ices, and to 
amuse themselves with talking and gazing. The bil- 
liard tables, in the rest, are surrounded by such as 
delight in trials of skill. It is not uncommon to see 
ecclesiastics joining in thisgnme; and, in the other 
apartments, the cocked hat and clerical habit are as 
familiar as any other costume. But it is less from a 
love of public places than a prudent economy. Here 
they can get a cheap meal, and, at the same time, see 
their friends and read the news. 



April 8th. When we had spent three or four 
weeks at Rome, we began to make preparations for 
our journey to Naples. The frequent accounts of 
robbery and assassination in Italy had, at first, given 
us some uneasiness, but as we afterwards heard of 
very few atrocities that could be relied on as facts, 
and as we had penetrated so far into the country with 
perfect security, we were persuaded that much of 
what had been said was the mere exaggeration of 
rumour. We were now entering upon a part of the 
road which had, at all times, been more infested with 
banditti than any other, and, from some recent oc- 
currences, there appeared to be just reason for appre- 
hension. We were emboldened, however, by en- 
couraging information from Mr. Cohen, who had 
gone on to Naples before us, and by the safe return 
of two or three of our friends. Among the multi- 
tudes too "who daily travelled the same road acci- 
dents were rare, and we therefore quieted ourselves 
with the idea, that where so many escaped the risk 
was small. 

In the route we now took the Campagna was still 
naked and deserted. An aqueduct, diverging slightly 
to the left, keeps in sight many miles, and the ruins 
of another stretch along, with frequent breaks and 
interruptions, in nearly a parallel line with the road. 
On our right there is a constant succession of tombs, 
once the splendid mausoleums of the great, but now, 


for the most part, only rude heaps of stone. The 
misfortunesof Rome seem to spread desolation around 
her, and the mind finds a secret pleasure in associat- 
ing this wide and dreary solitude with her departed 

Just before our entrance into Albano we passed a 
square pile, which is called, by tradition, the Tomb of 
Ascanius. Whilst dinner was preparing we went up 
on the height above the town, and, from the grounds 
of a monastery of Capuchins, we had a full view of 
the Alban lake. It is a beautiful expanse of water, 
encircled by hills and mountains, and receiving a 
charm from all the objects around it. The ancient 
city of Alba Longa is supposed to have occupied the 
site where we stood, and to have extended along the 
lake as far as the Caslello Gandolfo, which is on the 
brow of a precipice, about a mile above the mo- 

Mount Algidus rises on the opposite side to a com- 
manding height, from which, it is said, Hannibal 
showed Rome to his army A thick mist concealed 
from us the situation of Arcjea, Lavinium, and Lau- 
rentum, and the classick ground, made so interesting 
by the fancy of the poet, was only left lo our own 

In returning we stopped to see the ruins of Pom* 
pey's villa, at present comprehended in the villa Bar- 
berini. The vestiges may be traced to a prodigious 
extent, and if its richness corresponded with its di- 
mensions, it must have cost too much even for a 

Soon after leaving Albano we passed the square 


monument, with two or three conical obelisks, which, 
ac -ording to popular belief, is the tomb of the Hora- 
tii and Curiatii. Though this opinion is at variance 
with history, antiquarians have agreed in no other. 

The little town of La Riccia is finely situated on 
an eminence, above a small and beautiful dell. This 
is the place noticed by Horace, as the first stage in 
his journey to Brundusium. 

" Egressum magna me accepit Aricia Roma, 
" Hospitio modico " 

In Gensano, the next town, we meet with the novel 
sight of wide streets, laid out with regularity. 

Towards evening we came to Velletri, an ancient 
city of the Volsci. We lodged in the Palazzo Ginetti, 
once a stately edifice, but now abandoned by the 
proprietor, and converted into an inn. From the 
arched windows of a superb marble staircase, we 
enjoyed a delightful view of the neighbouring country. 
The rich and populous vale before us was bounded 
by a semicircular sweep of the Vol^cian mountains, 
and farther to the right was the celebrated promon- 
tory of Oirce, stretching its high and jutting point 
far out into the sea. 

Two or three hours daylight afforded us time for 
a ramble through the town. We saw an immense 
crowd coming out of the cathedral. The carriage of 
the Bishop, in waiting for him at the door, was with- 
out gaudiness or parade, and appeared to be entirely 
suited to the simplicity and poverty of the people 
under his charge. 

We were much struck by the costume of the wo- 
men of this place. It was distinguished by coarse 


Stays worn outside of the gown, and by a towel, folded 
into a small square, laid upon their heads. Their 
dress was not more peculiar and extraordinary than 
the clumsiness of their forms and ugliness of their 

The men who were collected in knots, and loung- 
ing about the streets, were strongly marked by 
that dark, designing, and villainous cast of counte- 
nance so often seen among the common people of 
Italy. But we had heard so much of robbers watch- 
ing the motions of travellers in the towns and villages, 
in order to intercept them on the road, that it is pos- 
sible suspicion and fear may have thrown a deeper 
shade over their evil and gloomy visage. 

In passing through one of the streets, I observed a 
religious ceremony, which appeared to be the visita- 
tion of a sick or dying person. A number of people 
were kneeling on the ground around the door of a 
private dwelling, and singing a kind of plaintive and 
monotonous response to some voices within. The 
priests came out in a few minutes, and the crowd 
followed in procession. This show of piety in pub- 
lic places, though contrary to our customs, and in 
general revolting to our feelings, is sometimes in- 
teresting and impressive. Every where in Italy reli- 
gion meets the eye and the ear, and 1 cannot believe, 
with others, that it seldom or never reaches the heart. 

April 9th. The next morning we passed by Citer- 
na, which is supposed by some to be the place called 
in the Acts of the Apostles the Three Taverns, where 
the brethren met St. Paul on his way to Rome, and 
soon after the site of the Appii Forum. 



The famous road of Pius VI. across the Pomptine 
marches, commences at Torre dei tre Ponti. It is 
raised on the remains of the Appian way. A double 
row of trees on each side, screens carriages from the 
rays of a burning sun, and affords a cool and shady 
path for foot passengers. The road is hard, wide, and 
smooth, and scarcely deviates from a right line in 
five and twenty miles. 

We arrived at Terracina early in the afternoon. 
This city stands at the foot of a mountain shelving 
towards the sea. The more modern part, along the 
shore, comprehending the palace of Pius VI. and 
many of his improvements, is light and cheerful, but 
the old tow T n is dark and noisome. The sordid ap- 
pearance of the inhabitants might excite pity, did 
not their sinister looks awaken suspicion. The skull 
of a notorious assassin is exposed in an iron cage over 
the gate of the city. There is nothing curious with- 
in except the cathedral, a motley assemblage of ma- 
terials and orders, and part of the front of an ancient 

The prpspect from the lower town is wild and 
singular. A high and insulated rock rises immedi- 
ately before it, with chambers cut in the side for the 
accommodation of the guards. The rugged face of 
Mons Anxurus appears behind, and the arched foun- 
dations of the palace of Theodoric, or the temple of 
Jupiter, on the top. The base of the mountain to 
the left is covered with orange groves and gardens, 
and below we behold the great deep, and hear the 
ceaseless murmuring of its waters. 

April 10th. The next day we set out before the 


dawn, and soon came to the Tune del con/mi, or fron- 
tier tower, which separates the Ecclesiastical State 
from the kingdom of Naples. Here we were detained 
for the examination of our baggage. Nothing, how* 
ever, was intended but that we should give some- 
thing to the Custom-House officer, and pass on with- 
out search. We had already done so at Terracina, 
but it was necessary to submit again to this vexatious 
imposition, or to a tedious delay, which would have 
been still more inconvenient. 

In } drawing near the city of Fondi, we perceived 
that the lower part of the walls was built of irregular 
and unhewn stones. The date of this rude relique 
is placed farther back than the foundation of Rome. 

A portion of the Appian way forms the principal 
street. The pavement consists of dark gray stones, 
the irregular sides and angles of which are fitted to 
each other. 

Fondi is filled with beggars. I never remember to 
have seen, in any place, such a multitude of misera- 
ble and half-starved wretches as pressed around the 
carriage the moment we stopped One or two sickly 
and emaciated old women, a stunted and famished 
boy, and a little girl, with a ghastly infant in her 
arms, which appeared more like a corpse than a 
living thing, made such a painful impression on me 
that they seem now to be before my eyes. They 
were the most pitiable objects in the crowd; but all 
were thin and pale, wasted away with want, clamor- 
ous, as if a mite were to keep them from perishing, 
and ready almost to die of hunger. We had some 
money changed, and threw it among them. In an 


instant there was such a crowd around us, that the 
guards had to interfere, to put an end to their noise 
and importunity. But for this service, which it is 
thought will generally be acceptable, the soldiers 
themselves expect a compensation, and they only 
stop the cries of these poor wretches to satisfy their 
own cupidity. 

Here our baggage was taken off again for inspec- 
tion ; but showing the certificate that we had receiv- 
ed at the frontier, and refusing to give any thing more, 
they very reluctantly let it pass. 

At the next small town we were kept some time by 
the signing of our passports. Another famished 
crowd surrounded our carriage. Our change was 
gone, but we broke up two or three loaves of bread 
that we had with us, and scattered it among them. 
The children who were so unfortunate as to get none 
in the scramble, cried at the disappointment What 
a touching spectacle! In our happy country we have 
no poverty compared with this piteous and abject 

Itri, situated on an irregular height, and made con- 
spicuous by the towers of a castle and the ruins of a 
mausoleum, looks well only at a distance. The 
streets are narrow, and the houses mean and insigni- 

As we descended mount Csecubus the beautiful 
bay of Mola di Gaieta opened upon us, which, with 
the high grounds behind it to the left, the reputed 
tomb of Cicero below, the funeral monument of Mu- 
natius Plancus on the top of a smoothly swelling hill 
to the right, the fortress of Gaieta on the promontory 


a little beyond it, and the light and sprightly town 
of that name extending along the shore, formed such 
a charming coup d'oeil as is not often seen even on 
this delightful coast. 

The ruins bearing the name of Cicero's Lower 
Villa, were in the grounds belonging to our inn at 
Mola. The path which leads to them passes through 
a thick grove of orange and lemon trees, laden with 
the fairest and brightest fruits. A kitchen garden is 
spread over the arched foundations, with a hedge of 
shrubbery and trees. The sea has encroached con- 
siderably upon the low^r part of the villa, and we 
observed, just beneath the water, the circular form of 
one apartment, and the marks of several others. 
What would we feel if conjecture could be turned 
into certainty, and we knew that we were rambling 
over Cicero's Formianum ! 

The next post brought us to the Garigliano, for- 
merly the Liris, which we crossed by a bridge of 
boats. Here, part of an aqueduct, consisting of a long 
succession of arches, and an amphitheatre, with some 
other ruins, point out the site of the ancient Mintur- 
nae. The river runs through the level fields, and 
" the eating of the banks in its quiet course," a cir- 
cumstance noticed in the description of Horace, is 
not less true than poetical. 

We were now in the fertile plain of Sessa, and as- 
cending a little way up mount Massicus, we came to 
St. Agatha. At supper we drank some of the Faler- 
nian wine, but it was no longer that generous liquor 
which promoted the hilarity of feasts, and inspired 
the song of poeis. 


April 11th. In descending mount Massicus we 
soon descried, at a distance, the isle of lschia, with a 
bold and striking outline, though not " towering to 
the sky,"* and the double summit of Vesuvius, but 
not its " wreath of smoke." This is too subtle an 
object to be seen at a distance of forty miles. 

Whilst the horses were resting, at Capua, we hired 
acaleche to take us to the ancient city. A triumphal 
arch and the wreck of the amphitheatre are all the 
remains of that luxurious and effeminate city, which 
dissolved the vigour of Hannibal's army, and pre- 
vented the sack of Rome. The ruins of the amphi- 
theatre are gigantic. The greater part of one story, 
and a small portion of the second, are still standing. 
From a loose measurement the diameter appears to 
be more than four hundred feet. Many of the stones 
lying around it are of a prodigious size. Some idea 
may be formed of their magnitude from the following 
circumstance. A high and narrow part of one of the 
inner walls, consisting only of single blocks piled 
upon each other, had fallen against the outer wall, 
and was 'lying in a regular angle, and though the 
stones were neither fastened by cramp nor cement, 
yet not one of them was displaced by the shock. 
The solid fragment rested there with the firmness of 
a column. 

Our examination of these things was very hasty, 
but we found, on our return, that the delay had been 
long enough to try the temper of one of the passen- 
gers in the coach, a beggarly looking priest, who was 

* Eustace's Classical Tour. 


impatient to be gone. In the course of the journey 
he had been muttering over his breviary more than 
half the time, but now his peevishness got the better 
of his piety, and, as we took our seats, he wished old 
Capua a la casa di diaboli. 

From this place we passed through an uninter- 
rupted plain, and. at an early hour in the evening, 
entered Naples. The city was crowded with stran- 
gers, but after some difficulty we found comfortable 
apartments at the Albergo delta villa di Londra. 


April 12th. We spent several days in rambling 
through the city, and in seeing the gentlemen to 
whom we had letters, before we visited any of the 
interesting places in the neighbourhood. I found, in 
this celebrated metropolis, a more exact fulfilment 
of my expectations than common; an immense and 
active population pushing itself upon the notice of 
strangers, a general air of elegance in the buildings^ 
a situation of incomparable beauty, a mild and salu- 
brious climate, a laborious cultivation of the soil in 
the environs, which- seemed to be rendered almost 
superfluous from its fertility, and, in every direction, 
the hand of man vying with the lavish prodigality of 
nature in adorning his choicest abode. 

Naples rises from the shore, on the sides of a moun- 
tain, to a considerable height above the sea. A ridge, 
commencing with the abrupt and rocky eminence 

168 NAPLES, 

called Pizze Falcone, on the edge of the water, runs 
up to the elevated point which is crowned with the 
castle, and divides the city into two parts. That 
towards Pausilippo forms a perfect crescent on the 
border o r the sea, and stands on the side of the moun- 
tain as in the hollow of a swelling sail. The elegant 
street of St. Lucia, and the Chiaia, with the royal 
gardens in front, sweeping round to the quarter of 
Mergyllina, first present their bright and cheerful face 
to the spectator on the bay. Then, in somewhat of 
broken and irregular gradation, we see one range of 
terraced roofs rising over the other ; still higher the 
villas and rural retreats of the suburbs, with their 
hanging gardens; and finally, on the lofty point which 
overlooks the whole, the light and beautiful marble 
convent of the Carthusians, and the dark brown cas- 
tle of St Elmo, towering above in gloomy grandeur. 
The part of the city towards Portici exhibits a spec- 
tacle somewhat similar, Jnit less imposing. The 
streets are commonly narrow and straight, and neatly 
paved with square pieces of lava. The houses are 
covered jvith stucco. The* roofs are flat, and iron 
balconies project from the upper windows, with a 
loose and open railing. Though few of the buildings, 
whether public or private, are rich ami splendid when 
examined in detail, yet the general effect is fine. The 
Toledo, which is broader and longer than the rest, is 
rendered still more striking from being perpetually 
thronged. The street of business, a market-place in 
the morning, a fashionable walk at mid-day, the 
lounge of the idle, or the thoroughfare of the indus- 
trious through the remainder, it presents at all times 

NAPLES. 169 

a scene of noise, activity, and bustle. The tide of 
population rolls backward and forward like the trou- 
bled sea which cannot rest, and when carriages pass 
through, the crowd parts like the waves, and joins 
again without leaving a trace of their passage. And 
yet they glide over the smooth pavement so swiftly 
and silently, as scarcely to give any notice of their 
approach. The horses of the nobility and gentry are 
full of fire, and others are driven with rival fury. \t 
is a standing miracle, that notwithstanding their 
spirit and speed, accidents are almost unknown. 
The proprietors of hacks are not only amenable for 
accidents in their purse but their persons, and if, 
either from negligence or wantonness, they run over 
any one, they are subject both to fine and imprison- 

The Neapolitan caticheis a vehicle sufficiently cu- 
rious to merit a particular description. It resembles 
the vertical section of a vase, and does not rest on 
springs, but on slender and elastic shafts. It is ex- 
tremely light, very commodious for one person, but 
inconvenient for two. The person who is driven 
takes the reins, the driver stands behind, and conti- 
nually smacking his whip and crying out to make 
way, pushes on with alarming speed. 

From two or three American gentlemen residing 
at Naples, to whom we had letters, we received the 
most kind and friendly attentions. Several others, 
who were merely strangers here, made an agreeable 
addition to our circle of friends and countrymen. 
Among these was Mr. Clarke, lieutenant of the 
Franklin, a young man of amiable and engaging 



manners, and uncommon purity of mind. He was 
travelling, like ourselves, for health. The interest 
we felt in his character was heightened by sympathy 
for his situation. We could perceive, in the hacking 
and violent cough, the hectic flush, the pain and in- 
convenience of exertion, and the continual wasting 
of his strength, the advanced stage of that fatal dis- 
ease, which, when not checked by change of climate, 
scarcely leaves a ray of hope, and soon brings the 
sufferer to the tomb. An impatient desire to see his 
home, still more endeared to him by his recent mar- 
riage, and secret cares, which seemed to weigh upon 
a heart already oppressed by gloomy forebodings, 
were evidently counteracting the only means which 
were left for his restoration. He struggled against 
his feelings, and strove to divert his mind with the 
objects which were so amusing to others, but, in the 
midst of his attempts to be cheerful, some casual ex* 
pression would betray his despondency.* 


April 15th. To-day we went out to Pompeii. The 
road follows the indented sweep of the bay, passing 
through the long and beautiful street of Portici, the 
Tillage of Resina, and the devoted town of Torre del 
Greco, so often overwhelmed by the burning torrents 
of Vesuvius, and raised again from its ashes. The 

* It was too soon justified by the event. He lived to return to bis friends, 
but the joy of the meeting only embittered the hasty and final parting. 


course of devastation is still visible in the huge masses 
of consolidated lava which appear between and 
around the houses, and can be traced to the edge of 
the sea. A little before mid-day we reached Pom- 
peii. We were first taken into a court which was 
surrounded by a portico resting on doric pillars co- 
vered with stucco. The ranges of apartments behind 
the portico, are supposed to have been the quarters 
of the legionary soldiers. We passed from the op- 
posite side of the court into the smaller and larger 
theatres. The marble pavement of the former is still 
left, with a short Latin inscription in letters of brass. 
The latter is in a more perfect state. We could dis- 
cover the form and all the arrangements of this build- 
ing for the audience and actors, the semicircular seats 
rising above one another, intersected by flights of 
steps of a more convenient elevation ; the orchestra, 
the stage, the dressing rooms, and the places of in- 
gress and egress. The stage is so small as to have 
left but. little room for action or scenic effect, though 
this was indeed of no importance, as the scenes were 
not varied in ancient theatres according to the nature 
Qf the subject. Here also the pavement and many 
of the marble steps are preserved. This theatre is 
built against the side of a hill, and communicates 
with a forum above, where we observed an altar and 
other vestiges of a temple. Under the cool shade of 
an arched passage where the actors entered, we made 
an excellent dinner that we had providently brought 
along with us, and refreshed ourselves with some 
palatable wine procured for us at the place. 

The temple of Isis, behind the smaller theatre, is 


a curious remain. It consists of an inner court with 
a portico. Near the entrance there is a square hol- 
low block of marble for ablutions. At one extremity 
we see the chapel raised a few steps above the court, 
an open altar, and the inmost shrine beneath, or a 
hidden cell, with which there is a communication by 
a secret stairs. 

The amphitheatre was excavated by the orders of 
Murat. The corridors are entirely cleared, the seats 
have left their form on the earth, though the stones 
are removed, and the arena is fully exposed. Situ- 
ated in a hollow, it has no boldness without, and 
within it is more remarkable for its exact preservation 
than for its size and grandeur. 

From these public buildings we proceeded to ex- 
amine the private houses. We had already seen 
many of the monuments of the pride and power of 
the Romans, but we had never been admitted into 
their domestic retirement, nor permitted to judge of 
their comforts or their wants. Time has destroyed 
every clue to these things except at Herculaneum and 
Pompeii. I At the latter we see something, but little 
however corresponding with the heated fancies or 
exaggerated descriptions of most persons who have 
visited it. 

The first street consists of private dwellings, more 
than half demolished by the superincumbent weight 
of pumice stones and ashes. The roofs are broken in, 
the floor of the second story (where there was one) 
is gone, and nothing is standing but the naked walls 
of the first. In many instances even this is, in a great 
measure, choaked up and concealed by sand. 


The excavations, in the next street, were more 
complete. Here, the rooms being cleared, we had 
a good opportunity of examining the arrangements 
in the dwellings of the ancients. The apartments 
are very small, seldom communicating with each 
other, and receiving no light from without except by 
doors. They generally open upon an inner court, 
where the inhabitants must have looked for light, air^ 
and enjoyment. There are no chimnies and no en- 
tries or halls ; and, in short, there is a total want of 
room, convenience, and comfort, in all of them. 

The shops, however, have windows opening upon 
the streets. They are very narrow, and the door and 
window take up the whole front. 

We observed among them a baker's shop, a gro- 
cer's, with the amphorae for wine, still remaining, 
and an apothecary's, with a symbol over the door 
expressive of his calling. 

There was but one private edifice in Pompeii on 
a larger scale. Here the apartments were compara- 
tively spacious, the court more extensive, and the 
different ornaments in better taste. The pavements 
were of neat mosaic ; there were some reliques of 
beautiful marble in the baths; and the arabesque 
paintings made a nearer approach towards elegance. 
Every where else they seemed to me exceedingly 
rude and imperfect. 

The streets are as narrow as the houses are insig- 
nificant. The broadest are not more than twenty- 
four feet wide, and I measured one which was not 
more than seven or eight. As a portion of this even 
is taken up with side-walks 3 only a single carriage 


could pass at a time. They are paved with mishapen 
pieces of basalt as they were taken from the quarry, 
and fitted nicely to each other. The deep traces of 
the wheels in this hard substance are a plain indica- 
tion of the antiquity of this city at the time it was 
destroyed. They were trodden for centuries before 
our sera, and we now pass over the very stepping- 
stones by which the people of such remote ages 
crossed these very streets. There is nothing so im- 
pressive in this region of wonders. 

At the extremity of one of the streets there is, on 
each side, a range of sepulchral monuments. They 
are of various dimensions and designs. The greater 
part are diminutive and neat, but a few, with sculp- 
tured decorations, have a degree of elegance and 
grandeur. The white marble of which they are built 
is scarcely discoloured by time. We went into some 
of them, and saw the niches where the vases had 
stood with the ashes of the dead. In one or two 
others, which were closed, we perceived, through the 
grating of the door, that some of these cinerary urns 
still remained. 

A little farther on, the gate of the city and part of 
the wall are exposed. They are of the same shrunken 
proportions as every thing else in the place. 

Excavations have recently been made in another 
part of the town, and they are now carrying on the 
work with spirit. In going to examine these new 
discoveries, we passed over a part of Pompeii, which 
is not yet disinterred. It is covered with trees and 
vines, and gives no sign of the city beneath. 

The ruins which have been lately brought to light 


consist entirely of porticos, forums, basilicae, and 
temples. There is a certain air of magnificence in 
them at the first glance which disappears upon close 
inspection. The columns, in these public buildings, 
are generally composed of brick, and covered with 
white or coloured stucco. In one of the temples 
they are of marble. 1 remarked here a very singu- 
lar and interesting appearance. The lower steps of 
the portico having been shaken and displaced by 
some convulsion, had sunken considerably into the 
earth, and declined from their horizontal position. 
But by a composition of stucco they have been restor- 
ed to their level. It looks exactly like a recent job. 
May not this injury, in appearance so lately repaired, 
have been occasioned by the shock of the earthquake 
that took place a short time before the eruption which 
overwhelmed Pompeii? 

There were some rough pillars, lying near this 
temple, which had not yet received the finishing 
touches of the workmen. 

Indeed ail things here, as far as they exist, appear 
precisely as they were seventeen centuries since; 
the pavements, bearing the traces even of a higher 
antiquity; the apartments, inhabited by such distant 
generations ; the forums, where they sauntered away 
their leisure hours ; and the temples, where they wor- 
shipped their gods. The eating and waste of time 
can no where be seen. We are surrounded with ruin 
and desolation, but it is the work of a moment, and 
foot the slow decay of ages. Pompeii looks now, just 
as it would have done, if it had been dug up immer 
diately after its destruction. 

176 POMt'Eir. 

The person who can contemplate a spectacle so 
curious and singular, so calculated to affect him by 
the recollections it calls up, and not feel and think 
as he never did before, must have a degree of apathy 
only equalled by his stupidity. We could not ram- 
ble through the silent and deserted streets of this an- 
cient city without thoughtfulness and emotion. But 
there is undoubtedly a great deal of affected sensibi- 
lity in many who visit this place, and, in their de- 
scriptions, they represent it with the effect of en- 
chantment. Madame de Stael remarks, that " while 
standing at the intersection of the streets from which 
you can see the city on all sides still subsisting almost 
entire, you are expecting to meet the inhabitants ; 
and that such an appearance of life makes us feel 
more sadly its eternal silence." Eustace " entered 
the houses almost with the feeling of an intruder; 
he startled at the least sound as if the proprietor were 
coming out of the back apartments; and was afraid 
of turning a corner, lest he should jostle a passen- 
ger." Sass, a traveller of an humbler name, pre- 
sumes, on "this account, to be more ridiculous. <; In 
alighting, he was introduced into what appeared a 
fairy city, whose inhabitants, by some charm, had 
disappeared. With breathless impatience and light 
steps, as if fearful of disturbing the genii of the place, 
he tripped over the ground, and gave himself up to 
the ecstatic feeling" which this magic scene produc- 
ed. Nothing can be more idle and extravagant. 
Whatever may be the wildness of fancy or warmth of 
feeling, the illusion is impossible. There is not one 
entire house, not one temple with a roof, not one ba- 


silica, portico, or forum, that has any thing left but 
shattered walls and naked pillars. The whole city 
looks as if the upper part had been swept off by a 
conflagration that was instantaneously extinguished. 
The rooms of the first story are all that remain; many 
of these are half filled with sand; and all are open to 
the sky, excepting a few that are sheltered by a 
modern roof. 

1 confess therefore that these day-dreams of travel- 
lers, which had surprised and amused me so much in 
description, only lead to disappointment on the spot; 
and I could no more imagine this collection of ruins 
to be an inhabited, or even a deserted city, than I 
could expect to find the living among the dark and 
mouldering monuments of the dead. 


On our return we stopped at Portici, which is built 
over Herculaneum. This city was destroyed by the 
first recorded eruption of Vesuvius, in the year 79. 
Several of the public and private buildings have 
been discovered in different excavations, and many 
hidden treasures brought forth. But from a regard 
to the safety of the modern town and the royal 
palace, all researches have been suspended, and 
even those parts which were cleared out have been 
filled again with rubbish. The theatre is the only 
edifice left open for the inspection of strangers. Pas- 
sages are cut through the lava, so as to exhibit the 



seats, the orchestra, and stage in sections. One of 
the galleries leads to' the street on which the theatre 
stands. By the dusky glimmering of a few torches, 
we were able to catch the several parts, and assisted 
by what we had seen at Pompeii, to form a tolerably 
just idea of the whole. Some fragments of jaune 
antique on the floor and walls, are a slight presump- 
tion that the ornaments were rich, and, from what we 
could trace, it was still more evident that the build- 
ing itself was spacious. 

The impression of a human face in the lava caught 
our attention as we passed through one of the gal- 
leries, and for a moment occasioned some specula- 
tion and surprise. But it was, no doubt, made by a 
statue wrapt in the burning matter in a liquid state, 
and afterwards disengaged from it in opening the 

The lava filled the whole interiour of the theatre, 
and rose considerably above it. The perpendicular 
descent from the top to the stage cannot be less than 
fifty feet. In passing through these damp and sub- 
terraneous passages, we seem to be in the bosom of a 
perforated rock. 

As the royal family happened to be at Portici the 
palace could not be seen, but we spent a short time 
in examining the antiquitiestaken from Herculaneum 
and Pompeii. The greater part have been removed 
from this museum to the Studio of Naples. The pic- 
tures are almost the only things left behind. These 
were either fanciful arabesques, or figures of birds, 
beasts, and fruits, or representations of mythological 
stories, which had adorned the walls of private houses. 


The colours were without softness or harmony, and 
the execution was coarse and inelegant. We would 
not look among the decorations of common dwellings 
for the master- pieces of ancient art; but still, from 
the universal prevalence of taste in their sculpture 
and architecture, we might expect something more 
perfect than these rude sketches. 


April 17th. To-day we made an excursion to 
Pozzuoli. The road passes through the long and fa- 
mous grotto of Pausilippo. The mouth of it is wide 
and lofty, for the purpose of admitting light, but the 
vaulted roof gradually descends to the middle of the 
passage, where, for the same reason, it rises again and 
expands, till it reaches the opening at the opposite 
extremity. At some distance from each end, two 
large apertures have been worked through the moun- 
tain above, in an oblique direction, to lessen the 
darkness. A few lamps, suspended from the vault, 
glimmer in those parts, where the outward rays can- 
not penetrate. Still, however, through two thirds of 
the grotto, the way is scarcely discernible. As the 
carriage rolls on we are soon wrapt in the obscurity 
of night. Noises approach, while the cause of them 
is unseen ; indistinct and shadowy objects flit by; at 
length they begin to put on some form; and in a few 
minutes passing from the faint dawning through all 
the successive degrees of light, we suddenly emerge 


into the full brightness of day. It is a relief to see 
before us a smiling country, though nothing but a 
comparison with the gloomy shades we had just left, 
could entitle it to the epithet of" Elysian."* 

We turned off to the right three miles from the 
grotto, to the Logo d'Agnano. The immediate banks 
of the lake are level, but the grounds in the vicinity 
are bold and varied. It is a sweet, secluded spot, 
which the lover of retirement and rural beauty can- 
not fail to enjoy. 

The Grotto del Cane is in the side of a hill, on the 
edge of the lake. Our guide took a dog with him to 
make the usual experiment. We were not aware of 
his intention till we saw the creature struggling and 
drawing back from the mouth of the cave. We im- 
mediately interposed, and saved the poor animal from 
the torment which he so much dreaded. Torches 
were suddenly extinguished by the mephitic vapour 
at the bottom of the grotto ; though, on entering it, 
we breathed freely above. The ground was moist 
and warm under our feet. By leaning down, on the 
outside, the noxious exhalations can be plainly seen 
about six or eight inches above the surface. 

The Stufe di San Germano, or vapour baths, are 
not far from the cave. They are found very service- 
able in rheumatic and many other complaints. Some 
of the apartments were so warm that we could not 
bear our hands on the walls for a moment. In one 
or two, of a milder temperature, there are couches, 
made of the tufo, upon which the invalids repose, 

* Eustace. 


after they are thrown into a perspiration by the heat- 
ed vapour. In less than a minute our bodies both 
felt and exhibited the effects of it. The smoke is 
issuing out of the ground above in different places. 

We walked along the borders of the lake while we 
sent our carnage around to meet us again at Poz- 
zuoli. On turning off to the left, we passed a beau- 
tiful field of clover of a peculiar species. The blos- 
som, which is high, pointed, and perfectly conical, is 
of the brightest red, and the whole surface of the field 
appeared like a bed of flowers. It is less fragrant, 
but more nutritious, than the common clover. Mr. 
Hands procured some of the seed at Naples, from 
the American consul, for cultivation. 

In mounting up a deep ravine we came to the 
PisciareUi, or hot wells. The woman who was our 
conductress, took along some eggs to boil in the wa- 
ter. Upon feeling it, this did not seem impossible. 
In one or two minutes the eggs were brought to us. 
They were -warm on the outside, but when I came to 
eat mine, I found the yolk hard and cold. Notwith- 
standing the artifice was so palpable, the woman 
stoutly denied it. 

The high mountain which we continued to ascend 
was, in a great measure, composed of volcanic sub- 
stances. In some places men were employed in dig- 
ging out the sulphur for manufacture, which already 
appeared as bright and pure as if it required no pro- 

The views around us, from the top of the moun- 
tain, were a full compensation for our toil in reaching 
it. The convent of the Camaldolese stands on the 


brow of a lofty eminence, at the left of the ravine, 
overlooking the peaceful lake of Agnano. Vesuvius 
rises into view to the south-east. The Mediterranean 
stretches out to the west. In turning around we see 
the Solfatara, still smoking with hidden fires ; the 
town of Pozzuoli, with the fine bay spreading before 
it; and the coast and castle of Baiee. The bold pro- 
montory of Misenus, the island of Procida, and the 
towering height of mount Epomeo, in the isle of Is- 
chia, give a noble termination to the prospect in the 
north. The nakedness and desolation of the Phle- 
grean fields, and the faintness of the verdure else- 
where, were blots in the picture. Had we seen it in 
the glorious array of summer, it would have been as 
perfectly beautiful as it was extensive and sublime. 

We then went down, by a steep and slippery path, 
into the Solfatara. It is the mouth of an ancient vol- 
cano, which was called the Court of Vulcan. The 
sides still retain the broken and irregular appearance 
of a crater. The bottom is a naked level, except a 
small part, towards Pozzuoli, which is covered with 
a scattered growth of stunted trees. The whole sur- 
face is of a light sulphureous colour. The extreme 
heat of certain spots, the smoke issuing from crevices 
in the banks, and the deep hollow reverberation on 
striking the ground with a stone, are so many indica- 
tions of a volcano not yet entirely extinguished. In- 
deed the whole of this region is inwardly consumed 
by secret fires. A number of slight hovels were erect- 
ed below, where persons were employed in extracting 
and preparing s ulphur. 

We were so thoroughly fatigued by a rough walk 


of several miles, in a hot and oppressive day, that we 
were unwilling to pass even a few minutes in examin- 
ing the amphitheatre of Puteoli, which is older than 
the Coliseum at Rome. From the glance we gave it, 
it seemed so inferior to several that we had already 
seen, as to afford no provocative to a languid curi- 

When we entered the town of Pozzuoli we stopped 
at a paltry inn, where there would have been nothing 
to eat, had we not provided against such an exigency. 
They furnished us with some good wine however, 
to which thirst gave a zest, and hunger made this 
simple fare better than a feast. 

After dinner we went out to see a few of the anti- 
quities in the neighbourhood. We spent some time 
in rambling over the site of ancient Cumse. The 
pavements, occasionally exposed to view, or the 
foundations of a house or garden wall, overrun with 
grass and vines, might inform the traveller that 
here had been the abodes of men. Besides these 
slender notices there is nothing remaining of this 
city, so famed for its commerce, oracle, and sibyl, 
but a single gate and a half ruined castle. The lat- 
ter, though built on the foundations of the ancient 
fortress of Cumse, is a relique only of the days of her 
decline. Here we contemplated this region, once 
sounding with the hum of business, but now silent 
and deserted. The lonely arch, on the opposite 
height, through which we entered, with a remnant of 
the walls on each side, made the solitude more strik- 
ing. The waves of the sea were dashing at the foot 
of the precipice where we stood. Procida, with its 


castle, on a lofty cliff, beetling over the waters, was 
so near us as to be distinctly seen ; and Ischia soared 
conspicuously beyond it. 

In the side of the rock on which the fortress stands, 
there are two grottos. One of them is supposed to 
be the cave of the Cumsean sibyl. 

On our return to Pozzuoli, we stopped at the tem- 
ple of Jupiter Serapis. The pavement of yellow 
marble ; three immense columns, belonging to the 
portico ; and the square cloister, consisting of many 
small chambers which enclosed the circular temple, 
are very well preserved. These, with the fragments 
of shafts, capitals, and cornices strewed around the 
court, are plain evidences of the elegance and splen- 
dour of this ancient edifice. 

A ring of Corinthian brass, fastened to the floor, 
for the purpose of drawing up victims for sacrifice, 
was a curiosity; and a prostrate column, five feet in 
diameter, completely worm-eaten, and perforated 
almost like a honeycomb, shows that it must have 
been subject to the corroding influence of water from 
the sea. Indeed similar appearances, to a much 
greater height, in the columns still standing, would 
seem to argue, at some former period, an extraordi- 
nary inundation of the bay, which had continued 
for a long time. 

Towards evening we made arrangements for pass- 
ing the night at a large and uncomfortable inn, that 
appeared as if it had once been an elegant private 

While we were here, a man came in with a variety 
of coins and medals for sale. As none of us were 


skilled enough in these things to distinguish the false 
from the genuine we refused to buy, though the whole 
were offered for little more than the value of so much 
old copper. A small piece of sculptured bronze, as 
high as the rest in pretensions to antiquity, though 
evidently of modern workmanship, we felt disposed 
to take at a reasonable price. The man asked six 
crowns for it. He affected great surprise and indig- 
nation when Lieutenant Clarke offered him one. But 
soon resuming his composure, he fell to four, three, 
two, and finally to the price he had so much despised, 
which, after all, was more than it was worth. 

The situation of our hotel was charming. From 
a high and spacious terrace adjoining our apartments, 
we could see the bay, the varying coast of Baise, the 
strong fortress which defends, and the proud promon- 
tory which bounds it. A little below us the ruinous 
arches and scattered piers of the ancient mole of Poz- 
zuoli, vulgarly called the Bridge of Caligula, just ap- 
peared above the surface of the waters. The waves, 
with their hoarse and monotonous murmur, broke 
against the foot of the terrace. The air was mild 
and grateful, and the scene tranquil and soothing. 
By what a subtle process do our very pleasures revive 
the remembrance of our sorrows ! From this calm 
delight we pass to thoughtfulness, and the softened 
heart, in the midst of its enjoyments, is prepared for 
different impressions. I had a friend of rare endow- 
ments and exalted worth,* who was known only to 
a few, but whose merit would soon have broken 

* Dr. James Inderwick. 



through his modesty, and raised him to the distinction 
for which nature had fitted him He was gifted with 
a sound understanding;, a strong memory, an easy 
comprehension of the most abstruse subjects, a keen 
perception of truth, and a taste for all beauty, whether 
in nature, literatur ', or the arts He had the elements 
of a great and elegant mind, and he was forming it 
by the most patient and persevering industry. But 
these qualities are sometimes found in men for whom 
we cannot feel a particle of esteem. In him, they 
were united with a noble way of thinking; a retired 
disposition, which arose partly from humility and 
partly from pride, for while he abhorred vainglory, 
he thought too highly of himself to court notice or 
favour; a kind and affectionate temper, which sought 
to indemnify itself for this general reserve, by freer 
and fuller communications in the society of his friends. 
Excepting in an aged and doating father, one com- 
panion of his childhood, and myself, his heart had no 
interest in the world. We had the whole of it, and 
how much is the gift enhanced by this selfish exclu- 
sion ! After he had prepared himself for his profession, 
being without the patronage which is often necessary 
to bring talent itself into notice, he solicited employ- 
ment in the navy, and was appointed surgeon of the 
Argus. Just before that unfortunate action in which 
she was captured, he came on deck, with such a com- 
posed and cheerful countenance as struck the officers 
with admiration ; and when the engagement began, 
though the ward was exposed to every shot, he pro- 
ceeded with as much coolness in his duty as if the 
bloody scene had been familiar to him, and he had 


no share in the chances of the battle. He was taken, 
with the surviving officers, to Ashburton, in Devon- 
shire, where he passed a year in the most irksome 
captivity, tantalized with being in a country which 
offered so much for his gratification, and yet not per- 
mitted to pass the limits of this inconsiderable town. 
How happy would it have been for us, had early ex- 
perience of the evils to which he was liable, inspired 
him with disgust for this unsettled and precarious 
course of life! 

On his return to America, some of our vessels were 
going out to the Mediterranean. He had a love of 
the fine arts, and a turn for painting. A chance of 
touching that country which they had chosen for 
their abode was too captivating to be given up. It 
was a delightful day-dream, which promised him 
bliss, but which proved as unsubstantial as the visions 
of the night. He set sail, and arrived in the Mediter- 
ranean, but never saw the Italian coast. The vessel 
was ordered back immediately. The rest was a 
blank — filled up with the impatient desires of friends 
ready to embrace their friends — with disappointed 
hope — with trembling anxiety — with distracting 
doubts — which, as month rolled on after month, and 
year after year, at length settled in grief and de- 
spair. Not an individual was ever heard of. And, 
perhaps, the horrors of the poor souls, when sinking 
in the Epervier, were slight compared with the pro- 
tracted agonies of those they left behind them. 

Often as 1 was enjoying, in Italy, what my friend 
would have enjoyed so much more, the painful cir- 
cumstances of his story would rush upon my mind, 


associated with our college hours, our pleasant ram- 
bles, our familiar conversations, and all those feel- 
ings which, happily for us, time blunts, or our sorrows 
would be intolerable. 

April 18th. The next morning we visited the ca- 
thedral. It is formed of the remains of a pagan tem- 
ple, consecrated to Augustus. Some antique columns 
of the Corinthian order, inserted into one of the side 
walls, and the Parian marble, with which it is par- 
tially incrusted, by no means correspond with the 
coarseness and inelegance of the modern building. 

A small marble pedestal standing in the square, 
raised in commemoration of the cities rebuilt by Ti- 
berius, in Asia Minor, after their destruction by an 
earthquake, seems a contemptible monument of such 
an important event. The figures, in basso relievo, on 
the sides are, for the most part, mutilated and destroy- 
ed. But there is one circumstance connected with 
Pozzuoli, which must render it deeply interesting to 
every Christian heart. It has been consecrated by 
the presence and temporary abode of the first mes- 
senger to the Gentiles. This is that city of Puteoli 
at which St. Paul touched on his way to Rome. 
And from thence we fetched a compass, and came to 
Rhegium : and after one day the south ivind blew, and 
we came the next day to Puteoli : where we found bre- 
thren, and were desired to tarry with them seven days : 
and so we went towards Rome. And from thence, when 
the brethren heard of us, they came to meet us as far as 
Appii Forum and the Three Taverns: whom when 
Paul saw, he thanked God, and took courage* With- 

* Acts xxviii. 13, 14, 15. 


in a short time we had been over the greater part 
of this ground, trodden by the apostle. 

Having hired jackasses, we set out for an excursion 
along the shores of Baise, with four or five attendants, 
to act as guides, and to press on the lazy animals by 
encouragement and blows. Passing the Monte Nuovo 9 
which arose out of the Lucrine lake in a single night, 
we rode along the borders of the Avernus. This lake 
is now stripped of the horror and gloom with which 
it was covered by the imagination of the poets, and 
there is nothing in its present appearance to account 
for the extravagant fiction which made it the entrance 
into the infernal regions. But Augustus cut down 
the thick and impervious groves by which it was 
overshadowed, and, in forming the Julian harbour, he 
united it with the Lucrine lake, which communicates 
with the sea, and dissipated the noxious exhalations 
that once were fatal to the birds in crossing it. 

Opposite to the ruins of an octagonal temple, on the 
eastern side of the lake, is the mouth of another cave, 
almost concealed by shrubs and brambles, which is 
also called the Grotto of the Sibyl. It is nine feet 
wide, six high, and six hundred long. After being 
conducted, by the light of torches, about half way 
through, we found Mr. Hands, who had entered at the 
other extremity, with several men, in readiness to be 
our guides and supporters in a part more curious and 
intricate. A narrow passage of three or four feet in 
width, and five in height, leads off at right angles from 
the larger grotto to the baths of the Sibyl. Three 
men took us on their shoulders, and directing us to 
lift our feet as high, and bend our heads as low as 


possible, they entered with us into this narrow way. 
The close and confined air, and the smoke of the 
torches which each one held in his hand, almost suf- 
focated us. In a few moments the passage was en- 
larged, and we breathed more freely. We were 
carried hastily through two apartments, fitted up with 
accommodations for bathing, but now filled to a con- 
siderable depth with water. When our guides had 
lvaded through, we came to a stairway, which is sup- 
posed to have had some communication with a build- 
ing above. Here we had an opportunity of looking 
around these subterraneous caverns, connected by 
tradition with the celebrated personage, whose dark 
and mysterious oracles shadowed out the fate of cities 
and nations. The gloom which this recollection 
produces is heightened by the deep solitude of the 
place, by an obscurity which seems more palpable 
from the faint glimmering of the torches, and by a 
feeling of apprehension and insecurity as to the cha- 
racter of the guides in whose power we are placed. 
In a few minutes we were carried back again, 
and restored to the cheerful light of day. Some 
clamorous altercation with these fellows, about their 
recompense, was soon stopped by the adroitness and 
management of our cicerone. 

A little beyond the Lucrine lake, which is now 
reduced to a pond, we came to the Stufe di Tritoli, 
or hot baths of Nero, in a high cliff projecting over 
the shore. A number of apartments are cut out of 
the solid rock, and several galleries leading to the 
subterraneous fountain. Persons wishing to enjoy 
the benefit of the sweating baths, place themselves 


in these passages, which are heated to a great de- 
gree by the vapour rising from the boiling water. A 
man who attends them, stripped himself to his trow- 
sers, and went in to get a pailful for our examina- 
tion. In a short time he came out, covered with 
sweat, panting for breath, and apparently exhausted. 
Much of this was affected, to enhance the reward for 
his services. Our guide, who was perfectly well ac- 
quainted with the worth of all these things, as well 
as yvith the customary prices, gave him what he 
knew to be an abundant compensation. The usual 
farce of surprise at the inadequacy of the sum, then, 
of civil expostulation, and, finally, of loud and inso- 
lent importunity, was here acted over again. As 
yielding is attended with more difficulty than firm- 
ness, our man was immovable. We left the matter 
to him, and, mounting our donkies, were proceeding 
through a narrow gallery, cut out of the rock that 
forms part of the road to Baise, when the fellow, quit- 
ting him, pressed closely upon us. In such a confined 
and gloomy passage, the fierce looks and menacing 
tone of this half naked savage, gave me some unea- 
siness. Knowing the baseness and brutality of these 
people, the thoughts of the stiletto, or some other act 
of violence, crossed my mind, though it did not alter 
my purpose. We remained firm, and he at length 
returned in a storm of passion. We had witnessed a 
similar burst from the same person, occasioned by 
the determination of an Englishman, at our entrance 
into the baths. 

This absence of all gratitude and principle in the 
greater part of those who wait upon strangers, ac- 


eompanied either with the most debasing servility, 
or the most outrageous insolence, lessens their plea- 
sure very materially in many parts of Italy, but par- 
ticularly in their visit to Pozzuoli and Baiae. The 
people here seemed to me more gross, immoral, and 
degraded, than any 1 had seen. From the time we 
left Naples till we had finished this excursion, our 
faithful cicerone was continually harassed by vexa- 
tious disputes. Guides would officiously obtrude 
themselves upon us, and then would be sure to quar- 
rel with him, if they did not receive all they wished 
for services that were not demanded. Sometimes 
he refused to take them, at others he submitted to 
the imposition, for we always observed that he (and 
every other Italian with whom we were acquainted) 
was exceedingly careful not to offend the common 
people. It was, doubtless, a caution arising out of 
an intimate knowledge of their habits and temper. 

We rode along the high and precipitous shore 
which was formerly the favourite retreat of the luxu- 
rious Romans, and at every step we saw the founda- 
tions of their palaces and villas. They were incor- 
porated with the whole bank, and sometimes plainly 
appeared beneath the waves at our feet 

Near the castle of Baire, which is strikingly situated 
on a small promontory running out into the bay, we 
turned off to the right, in order to see the lake Fusitro, 
or ancient Acherusia palus. It is reserved entirely for 
the royal amusement, and no one is allowed to fish 
in it without the king's permission. 

Coming back again to the bay we visited several 
ruins along the shore. The temple of Diana is in 


a state of complete decay. The rotundo, which goes 
under the name of the temple of Mercury, is better 
preserved. The brick walls and part of the dome 
still remain. On entering it, our attention was ar- 
rested by a most extraordinary echo. The voice was 
returned with a quick and prodigious reverberation, 
and when we walked hastily across with a heavy step, 
the sounds were so multiplied as to make it seem 
like the trampling of a troop. The temple of Ve- 
nus is of the same form, but more spacious and ele- 
vated. The vaulted roof has almost entirely fallen 
in, and the walls are bare. 

The Piscina Mirabile, beyond the castle of Baise, 
a deep and ancient reservoir, divided into five im- 
mense arcades, and supported by lofty and massive 
pilasters, is a work of great solidity and grandeur. 

The Cento Camerelle, or hundred chambers, under 
the promontory ofBaulis, consist of a number of dark 
and subterraneous galleries, communicating with 
each other by low and contracted doors. At the 
mouth of this labyrinth we took some refreshment, 
which we enjoyed the more from the satisfaction of 
our half famished guides, and another hungry group, 
with whom we shared it. One of them picked up out 
of the dirt the slices of fat that we had thrown away, 
and devoured them with greediness, after having 
eaten more than enough of better food to quiet the 
cravings of a common appetite. 

We soon came in sight of a poetical region, which 
now presents nothing to distinguish it from many 
beautiful scenes that are left unsung. The Elysiact 
Fields lie at the foot of a semicircle of sloping hills. 



Covered with vines and grain, their aspect is pleasant 
and peaceful, but there are none of those ravishing 
charms in their actual state which can enable us to 
conceive how the most fervid imagination could, at 
any time, have selected this spot as the abode of 
blessed spirits. 

On our return, we entered, for a moment, into the 
tomb of Agrippina. The mournful history and tragi- 
cal fate of this nigh-minded woman, would give it a 
melancholy interest, had we any better assurance 
that it was really her sepulchre than the doubtful 
authority of tradition. 

Here leaving our jackasses to the care of our guides, 
and dismissing another for his impertinence, we took 
a boat and sailed across the bay. On reaching Poz- 
zuoli, the owner of the animals, not satisfied with the 
payment of the hire, but pretending to doubt the 
fidelity of the man whom he had sent with us, de* 
manded security for their safe return. And Rosano 
had to 2;o with him to the magistrate, to show his pass* 
port, and to leave directions where he might be found 
at Naples,, before he was permitted to depart. As 
we were setting off, the guide whom we had dismiss- 
ed overtook us. He had run from Baise to Pozzuoli, 
a distance of five miles, in about three-quarters of an 
hour. In the hope of extorting something more for 
his useless and unsolicited services than Rosano 
thought proper to give, he followed our carriage a 
long time, at the speed of the horses, stunning the ear 
of our patient and inflexible man with his clamour, 
and loading him with the vilest abuse. After another 
altercation with the coachman, who demanded an 


addition to the stipulated price, for having set down 
Lieutenant Clarke in the Toledo instead of St. Lucia, 
we finished this excursion, so varied by vexation and 

We were not long at Naples without visiting the 
tomb of Virgil. It is situated at the foot of a wild 
and irregular path, on the edge of a precipice, near 
the mouth of the grotto of Posilipo. The sepulchre is 
naked and empty, and the laurel, which Petrarch 
planted on the top, is withering away. But the spot 
is uncommonly picturesque, and this memorial of the 
poet gives it a charm which the doubts and reason- 
ings of antiquarians cannot entirely dissipate. 

April 19th. This morning we attended the ser- 
vice of our own church, which is regularly perform- 
ed, on Sundays, at the house of the British Consul. 

It was also celebrated at Rome, while we were 
there, in a private house, near the forum of Trajan; 
but we were so unfortunate as to be ignorant of it 
till on the eve of our departure. What an influence 
must the spirit of toleration have gained even in the 
bosom of popery, when the Protestant religion is 
exercised within sight of that Vatican which has so 
often thundered anathemas against it! I was inform- 
ed, that when application was made to the Pope for 
his permission, he neither granted nor refused it* 
The matter was understood, and from that time Pro- 
testants have met together without fear or molesta- 

The gentleman who mentioned this circumstance 
to me, personally waited on the Bishop of Nice to so- 
licit a similar favour. He pleasantly and courteously 


replied, that he wished it were possible for the Pro- 
testants to think and worship with them ; but as that 
was not probable, he referred them to the civil au- 
thority, whose business it was to grant this privilege. 
The answer being considered evasive, it was acted 
upon with the same confidence as if they had received 
the most formal consent. 

Notwithstanding, however, the indulgence of the 
Roman Catholics towards our supposed errors, they 
were still very careful in guarding the people of their 
own communion against them. Our French teacher 
at Nice once or twice attended the Episcopal ser- 
vice, but he soon received an authoritative admoni- 
tion not to repeat it. He complained, and submitted. 

In the afternoon I mounted up, at leisure, to the 
castle of St. Elmo. Turning off from the Toledo, I 
crossed several streets rising above each other till the 
path became steep, irregular, and difficult. Here, 
running in a zigzag direction, it presents, at every 
turn, delightful prospects of the city and villas in the 
environs, the towns and villages at a distance, the 
expanse of waters in front, and the grand sweep of 
mountains behind. The fortress can only be seen by 
a formal permit, which I had neglected to obtain. I 
entered, however, the hospital for invalids, an elegant 
edifice of marble, once a convent of the Carthusians, 
and, passing through the superb cloister, enjoyed, 
from the balconies of two apartments to the south- 
east and south-west, a divided view of those glori- 
ous objects, which, when united, as from the terrace 
above, are scarcely supposed to haye a parallel in the 



April 21st. Our carriage had scarcely entered the 
little village of Resina before a multitude of guides, 
mounted on mules, were scampering at our side ; and 
each soliciting the preference, they almost deafened 
us by their noise, and distracted us by their impor- 
tunity. We took three of them, with a couple of 
mules. After riding up the mountain five or six 
miles, we came to the hermitage. Here one of the 
monks, with shaven head, and coarse brown woollen 
cassock girt around him with a cord, received us 
kindly as a host, and waited upon us cheerfully at 
table as a domestic. Having thus refreshed our- 
selves, we renewed our journey, and soon came to 
the steep and conical part of the mountain which it 
is necessary to ascend on foot. This is almost en- 
tirely formed of pumice stones, cinders, and ashes, 
lying so loosely together as to give way under the 
weight of the body, and to make the largest strides 
shrink into a diminutive space. It was this which 
formerly made the journey to Vesuvius so difficult, 
but in a very recent eruption, part of a stream of lava 
adhered to the side of the mountain, and left a firm 
but rough pathway for visitors. I had two guides, 
one of whom tied a sash around my body, and, pass- 
ing it over his shoulder, held the ends of it in his 
hands ; the other put a bridle over his breast, and gave 
me the reins. They then drew, me after them by 
main strength. Notwithstanding this assistance, I 


sat down every few minutes, from an apprehension 
of excessive heat and fatigue. In an hour and a half, 
which is almost double the ordinary time, we reach- 
ed the summit; and, as the wind blew freshly, we 
found the prudence* of our precautions. A little be- 
fore the highest point there is a break in the ascent, 
where, for a short distance, we walked over a plain, 
covered with black, misshapen masses of lava. On 
the borders of the crater the dark cinders disap- 
pear, and give place to a light yellowish substance, 
approaching almost to the brightness of pure sulphur. 
Two or three smaller apertures were made in the side 
of the mountain in the eruption of December, 1817. 
We stood over the mouth of one of them, and could 
hear distinctly the roaring of the fiery elements with- 
in, like the boiling of a cauldron. It was hot under 
our feet, and the guide putting a piece of paper to 
the chasm, it kindled at once into a blaze. But the 
grand crater, which had so long been to me an ob- 
ject of eager curiosity, and which my imagination 
had represented with a kind of sublime horror, greatly 
disappointed me. It had neither the apparent mag- 
nitude, nor frightful depth, nor awful obscurity at 
the bottom, which I had expected. The sides of 
it were striped with ridges of lava, and the light 
ashes in the intervening spaces looked like the dry 
beds of mountain torrents. It was so far closed be- 
low, that no orifice could be seen. We walked 
around the edge till we came to another crater, form- 
ed in 1817. The circumference of this is about a 
quarter of a mile. U was still encircled and wrapped 
up in smoke. We imprudently got to the leeward 


side, and, in passing through this cloud of sulphure- 
ous vapour, were almost suffocated. One of the 
guides went down a little way into the larger crater, 
which did not seem to be a very daring experiment, 
though I cannot conceive how any person could have 
the temerity to descend to the bottom. 

Vesuvius, whose sides are blackened with so many 
different torrents of lava, the tracks of which can be 
distinctly traced till they have stopped short in their 
course, or have lost themselves in the sea, presents, 
on a great part of its outer surface, an aspect as dark 
and desolate as the crater within. The whole of the 
cone, which is a mass of volcanic substances; the 
deep valley, which is also filled with them to the 
north ; and the steep and rugged ridge above it, 
which is part of the ancient crater; have the same 
dusky and gloomy appearance. There is not, in 
these parts, a tree, nor an herb, nor a vestige of vege- 
tation, and every living thing shuns this region of de- 
struction and death. At the base of the mountain, 
except in the direction of the lava, the soil is fertiliz- 
ed by the ashes, and covered with vineyards and gar- 
dens. The rich plain below, with an overflowing 
population, appears more animated from the con- 
trast with the blasted and withered top of Vesuvius. 
And this is also heightened by the bright and cheer- 
ing aspect of the towns that border the gulf, the 
city of Naples, the graceful outline of the coast, the 
high and jutting promontories, the bays, the islands, 
and the sea. In returning we went down, amidst 
the ashes and cinders, with the swiftness of a race- 
horse. At every step the foot sunk far beneath the 

200 NAPLES. 

loose and unsubstantial surface, and, notwithstand- 
ing the rapidity of our descent, this kept us from 
either being precipitated forward, or from such an 
accelerated velocity as could not be stopped. Ex- 
cepting in a very small part of the way, near the 
top, we made our downward flight in about ten mi- 
nutes. Some have accomplished it in much less 
time. This, however, was so hurried as to throw me 
into a burning heat, and so fatiguing, though my 
arm was locked within my guide's, as to give me a 
little uneasiness about the consequences. But I soon 
recovered from both, and returned the same day to 
Naples, without experiencing any subsequent in- 



The collection of paintings in the public gallery is 
valuable, though less rare and select than several in 
Rome and Florence. The first piece that I noticed 
with particular pleasure, was Democritus, by Hanni- 
bal Carracci. His laughing face, and arch and hu- 
mourous eye, were not less true to nature, than to 
the character of his philosophy, which sported with 
the follies of mankind. Another, by the same, is ta- 
ken from a story of Tasso. It is Rinaldo ensnared 
by the sorcery of Armida. He is looking at her with 
the gaze of fascination, and showing, in a small mirror 3 

which he holds before her face, the charms by which 
he is entranced. Her looks, divided between herself 
and her lover, exhibit at once the complacency of 
conscious beauty and the exulting smile of conquest. 
The features of Rinaldo are free, bold, and manly, 
but softened and subdued by the power of the en- 
chantress. Her's are fine and dazzling, but without 
that delicacy which is the soul of beauty. 

Here are also a Magdalen of Titian like that in the 
Palazzo Pitti, but less finished and interesting ; a fine 
picture of Bramante and the Duke of Urbino,by Andre 
del Sarto; the Danae of Titian ; the sacred family, by 
Raphael, where the Virgin is represented with the 
lovely and expressive countenance of his Fornarina; 
an admirable portrait of a Flemish minister, by Van- 
clyck, with all the truth and animation peculiar to (hat 
school ; and the Virgin Mary crowning St. Andrew, 
by Rernardini Siciliana. The principal excellence 
of this last picture consists in the easy and flowing 
elegance of the drapery, the richness and splendour 
of the colouring, and the just and striking distribution 
of light and shade. In the betraying of our Saviour, 
by Gerardi del Notte, the painter has thrown the glare 
of the torches upon the faces of the group with inim- 
itable effect. So much indeed was he admired for 
his wonderful management of light in evening scenes, 
that his real name is lost in that of Gerard of the 

A few charming landscapes of Claude Lorraine; 
the portraits of Leo X. and the Cardinals Rembo and 
Passani, by Raphael; and the guardian angel guiding 
the wandering steps of a child, by Domenichino; are 


202 NAPLES. 

the principal pieces besides which deserve to be 
noticed on account of their merit. Another should 
not be passed over on account of its shocking absur- 
dity. Our Saviour and St. Jerome are represented 
with their hearts laid open, and, as an evidence of 
their mutual affection, the image of each is seen in 
the other. 

Among the multitude of ancient statues, a few are 
very highly esteemed. The brawny muscles and 
vigorous sinews of the Hercules of Glycon, are suited 
to the fabulous achievements of this deified hero, but 
they exhibit so much more than mortal strength, that 
the sculptor can hardly escape the charge of extra- 
vagance. The imagination may be bold and excur- 
sive, and we lend ourselves to it without control, 
but in what is submitted to the senses, there must be 
a greater conformity to nature. 

The most careless observer will be struck by the 
light and easy folds of the drapery in the colossal 
statue of Flora, and the grace and beauty of the Far- 
nesian Venus. 

The dying gladiator excites a deeper feeling than 
admiration. Still standing, with arms hanging down, 
but stretched before him, with fainting knees, mouth 
slightly opened, trembling lips, and fixed eye, he is 
just ready to fall on his face and expire. The last 
convulsive agonies of death are seen in every limb 
and every feature. The whole expression is pathetic 
and moving, and there is more of life in this mourn- 
ful exit from it, than genius often creates when she 
attempts to exhibit it in all its force. 

In the apartment where the papyri are unfolded, 



we had an opportunity of examining this curious pro- 
cess. The manuscripts are burnt almost to a coal. 
Accordingly the greatest delicacy and precaution are 
necessary in unrolling them. The manner is tedi- 
ous, but remarkably simple. The scroll is laid on a 
table, at the side of which stands a small frame with 
a roller at the top. A strip of muslin, or some other 
thin fabrick, is placed within this frame, with one end 
attached to the roller. The muslin is rubbed over 
with a glutinous substance. The outer extremity of 
the manuscript is applied to the muslin, and as this 
is gradually wound up, the parchment adheres to it, 
and covers the frame. The portion unfolded is black- 
ened, shrivelled, and often cracked and broken; but 
the characters, in general, are distinct and legible, 
and copies are taken from the manuscript as the parts 
are successively exposed. 

Seventeen hundred of these manuscripts have been 
found in Herculaneum and Pompeii. Three hun- 
dred and forty have been unrolled, all of which, ex- 
cepting one or two, were Greek. None of the dis- 
coveries have been of much service to classical lite- 
rature; but hidden treasures may yet be brought to 

The collection of antiques, exclusively formed of 
the things taken out of these subterraneous cities, sur- 
passes every other cabinet in interest. Kitchen and 
other domestic utensils, in such variety, as to show 
that the science of cookery, at least, has gained but 
little by modern improvements ; lamps of different 
forms and sizes, and some of great beauty and ele- 
gance; polished mirrors, and all the trifles of a lady's 

204 NAPLES. 

toilet; household gods; surgical instruments; pon- 
derous suits of armour, and every weapon of war ; 
and ten thousand things that I cannot remember, fill 
several apartments, and require not only hours, but 
days, for a full and careful examination. The least 
of these are worthy of notice, from their great anti- 
quity, and many of them are the only reliques of the 
kind now existing. 

Even some perishable grain is still preserved, and 
retains its form, though not its properties nor colour. 
The scorching heat of the apartments has penetrated 
and burnt it like charcoal. 

But the most curious things in this collection are 
several small plates of bronze, on the surface of which 
there are projecting types for two, three, or more 
words, The invention of stereotype plates, is no- 
thing more than an enlargement of this idea. Here 
was the principle, though we may have the credit of 
a more extensive and successful application of it. 

On one of the finest days of this charming climate, 
we took j& ride along the bank towards Posilipo. 
After we had proceeded about two miles, we left the 
carriage, and, passing through a garden, went up to 
the convent of St. Bridget. Having permission to 
enter it, we ranged through the empty apartments till 
we found our way to the top of the tower. The view 
from this point, though less comprehensive than from 
some others, is large enough for grandeur, and, in 
certain respects, limited enough for beauty. From 
the promontory of Posilipo to the city, the bay forms 
one great curve, occasionally broken by the bold and 
irregular shore. The ruins of a royal palace im» 

NAPLES. 205 

mediately below, have the interest of desolation, 
though not of antiquity, and many of the summer re- 
treats, along the banks, are extremely pleasant and 
rural. The high grounds above are sometimes 
steep and rugged ; but, where the ascent is easy, the 
sides of this mountainous ridge are divided into gar- 
dens, filled with fig, apricot, and olive trees, and in- 
terspersed with vineyards. Among the villas on the 
heights, those of Belvedere and Vomers are on a 
scale of superior elegance; and these are surpassed 
by the castle and convent in their neighbourhood. 

That part of the city rising from the Chiaia, makes 
a most noble show. We could also overlook the 
bluff above the Castle d'Ovo, which conceals the 
rest, and catch a glimpse of the steeples on the other 
side of Naples. The eye follows the deeper bosom 
of the bay, resting with delight on the sprightly 
towns which border it, till it has described the re- 
gular outline that ends with the lofty promontory 
of Surrento. About midway between this and the 
point of Posilipo, Capri rises solitarily and abruptly 
out of the sea. Behind this magnificent gulf, which 
makes a sweep of a hundred miles, there is a rich, 
extensive, and populous plain, and, in the back 
ground, the high and broken mountains of Surrento 
and Caserta. Just at this moment Vesuvius, which 
towers above them, threw up, to an immense height, 
a dark and majestic cloud of smoke. 

The air was soft, and the sky serene. A few boats 
were sailing about in the bay, which was scarcely 
ruffled by the breeze. And whilst we remained on 
the tower, the setting sun cast a strong reflection upon 

206 NAPLES. 

the city, the towns, the villas, and mountains, lend- 
ing to this grand and magical scene a brighter ray of 

Descending, at length, with reluctance, we hired 
a boat to take us to the Castle d'Ovo. While we 
were crossing Vesuvius discharged another cloud of 
smoke; the light departed* the mountains were soon 
enveloped in shade, and, before we reached home, 
even the west sunk in darkness, and this beautiful 
and splendid spectacle faded away. 

A day or two before, in going out to take a sail, 
we saw, on the quay, a little deformed man, dressed 
in a shabby suit of black, who held a book in his 
hand, and was declaiming, with great vehemence, 
to the crowd that had gathered around him. We 
found that he was reciting the poems of Ariosto to a 
promiscuous audience of sailors and lazzaroni. They 
were listening to him with the fixed and eager atten- 
tion of a devout congregation to a field preacher. 
Whenever he came to a passage that was at all ob- 
solete, or obscure, he would stop for a moment to ex- 
plain it, and then proceed in his recitation. On 
espying our party, he broke off suddenly, and, ad- 
vancing towards us, he received some token of ap- 
probation, which so inflamed his spirit, that he went 
on again with all the animation and fury of Ariosto 

April 26th. On Sunday morning I attended our 
own service, and, in the evening, went to a concert, 
at the church of St. Augustine. It was preceded by 
a long sermon on the angels, St. Michael and St. Ra- 
phael, delivered with a grace and earnestness which 

NAPLES. 207 

would have suited a better subject. There were 
about twenty-five persons with violins and base-viols, 
and five or six singers. The instrumental and vocal 
music took place alternately. Sometimes, however, 
they were united, and occasionally we had a fine 
burst of the organ. There was a most masterly dis- 
play of execution and skill in this concert. In the 
harmonious swell of instruments and voices, or the 
lower tones and more delicate touches, the most 
practised ear could detect no harshness nor break in 
time; but the truest and most admirable effect was 
produced without parade or effort. Much of the 
singing was designed to show the science of the per- 
formers, but some of the solos were so sweet and 
tender as to charm and melt the heart. 

The church was decorated with silks of various 
colours, hanging in festoons from the walls and ceil- 
ing to the floor, and soldiers were stationed at the 
door to preserve order. 

There was excellent music, every evening, in the 
church at the end of the Toledo, near the theatre of 
San Carlo. I went repeatedly to hear the Hymn to 
the Virgin. A single person in the choir, with a 
plaintive and melodious voice, sung one verse, and 
the congregation took up the next, in full response. It 
was one of the most simple and touching things that 
I ever heard. The general prevalence of a musical 
taste among all orders in Naples, and an appearance 
of extraordinary fervour in their devotions, heighten- 
ed the effect of their most common chants. 

But there is nothing in which the Roman Catholic 
slergy show a nicer acquaintance with the human 

208 kaples.. 

heart, than in the manner of conducting the music 
at the elevation of the host. The organ sends forth 
such low, and solemn, and preternatural sounds, that 
one almost involuntarily sympathizes with its wor- 
shippers in the overpowering sentiment of a " pre- 
sent God." 

The church of St. Paul occupies the site of the 
temple of Castor and Pollux. Two Corinthian pillars, 
which belonged to the portico, are still standing. 
We were shown, behind this building, an ancient 
wall, said to be a part of the theatre on which Nero 
disgraced himself, by first appearing in the character 
of a singer. 

The only charitable institution, out of a number 
that I visited, was the Alhergo dei Poveri, designed for 
the support of the poor in general, and especially for 
the education of children. It is an immense build- 
ing, and, at the time we were there, contained four 
thousand souls. As General Nugent, with several 
persons in his train, were then passing through it ? 
every thing was probably arranged for display and 
effect. The persons whom we saw were, for the 
most part, young. They were engaged in various 
kinds of useful and ornamental labour; some in 
weaving, more in making coral beads, bracelets, and 
necklaces, and many in drawing and music. We 
were entertained, in different parts, by the harpsi- 
chord, the full band, and a dramatic trifle, sung by a 
juvenile corps upon the stage. Some of these occu- 
pations might seem out of place in a house of cha- 
rity ; but they are here considered useful, because 
they fit the poor for professions by which multitudes 


gain their livelihood in Italy. They were all dressed 
neatly, but the boys were in uniform, with cocked 
hats. The apartments were judiciously arranged, 
well ventilated, by a communication with spacious 
halls, and kept in perfect order. There was an un- 
usual air of cleanliness and comfort throughout the 
establishment, and nothing was to be censured but 
a little unbecoming ostentation and parade. 

It was unfortunate for us that we happened to fall 
in the rear of a great man's train, for it could not be 
expected that simple republicans would draw any at- 
tention before the trappings of royalty. Accordingly 
we were not able to make any inquiries as to the 
rules of admission, the mode of treatment, the moral 
tendency, or actual and comparative condition of 
this institution ; and we came away with no other 
information than was collected from a hasty glance 
of the eye, when every thing was specially disposed 
to strike it. 


April 27th. We made an excursion to-day through 
a well cultivated country, in the neighbourhood of 
Naples. On entering the valley of Maddaloni, about 
ten or twelve miles from the city, the famous aque- 
duct which crosses it, rose up in majesty before us. 
It consists of three rows of lofty arches, which are all 
of the same span and elevation, but the height is so 
disproportioned to their breadth as to lessen materia 



ally the grandeur of the work. From this circum- 
stance, and the small size and porous substance of 
the volcanic stones of which it is built, the aqueduct 
of Maddaloni is vastly inferior in boldness and effect, 
to the Pont du Gard. The situation, however, is 
scarcely less wild and lonely, and, in some respects, 
the surrounding objects and ^distant glimpses are 
even more striking and romantic. A bridge of eigh- 
teen feet wide, and two thousand long, passes over 
the conduit. Here, at the height of two hundred 
feet, there is a fine prospect of the valley beneath, 
and the mountains of Tifata and Gazzano on each 
side, enlivened by chesnut and olive trees, and 
small fields of grain, rising above each other in 
terraces. A hermitage and chapel on a neighbour- 
ing eminence, and an ancient tower on another, add 
to the beauty of the picture ; and an opening in the 
valley to the south-west, presents a momentary 
view, in passing, of Vesuvius, the Gulf, Surrento, and 

The palace of Caserta is three miles from the 
aqueduct; It is nearly eight hundred feet in length, 
six hundred in breadth, and one hundred and twenty 
in height. A wide portico, or gallery, adorned, 
in several parts, with fine columns, and, passing 
through the centre of the building, communicates 
with four spacious courts. Through this grand 
avenue there is a view of the royal gardens, and, at a 
great distance beyond it, a beautiful waterfall, which 
appears perfectly natural, though it is an arrangement 
of art. An octagonal hall, formed by twenty-four 
pillars, standing in the middle of the portico, opens 


upon the principal staircase. A flight of broad steps 
leads to a large platform, and then, to the right and 
left, two other flights run back from this stage in 
parallel lines, into a corresponding hall above. The 
triangular sides of the staircase, and the whole walls 
of this large recess, are cased with marble. The 
work is not more costly than the design is chaste and 

We then passed through several sumptuous apart- 
ments, but most of them are neither proportioned in 
magnitude nor splendour to the outward appearance 
of the palace. We were shown the chamber where 
Murat formerly slept. The decorations of the bath- 
ing-room are suited to the sensual taste of the present 

The gallery, supported by twelve columns of ala- 
baster, is the most conspicuous part of the small 
theatre, built upon the ancient plan. The chapel is 
the pride of the palace. The proportions are minute, 
but the design, the embellishments, the materials, 
and effect are, perhaps, without a parallel. Eight 
pillars, of the finest dark gray marble, rise in couples 
from each side of the gallery to the vault, and four 
of the most beautiful jaune antique in a semicircular 
recess over the altar, are matched by four of the 
same kind, at the entrance of the chapel. The pave- 
ment and the walls, which form the base of the 
colonnade, are of the richest marbles. With all 
this prodigality and show there is the utmost sim- 
plicity and grace. Even the more finished and la- 
boured monuments of the munificence and wealth of 
the Borghese and Corsini families, at the churches 


of St. John Lateran and St. Maria Maggiore, fall 
short of the chapel of Caserta. 

We passed carelessly through the rest of the pa- 
lace, which is too vast to be completed by the limited 
finances of this embarrassed kingdom. I was not in 
every part of it, and yet I saw more than two hun- 
dred columns of marble and alabaster. The whole 
number of rooms amounts to eighteen hundred. 

The massy foundations of this buildingare of stone. 
The rest is of brick. The colonnade of the centre, and 
wings in front and rear, is faulty in many respects. 
The base of the pillars is forty feet above the ground. 
They are consequently out of proportion to the height 
of the edifice, and they are also wanting in boldness of 
relief. But though there is much to be censured in 
the architecture of this palace, yet we are more im- 
pressed by its immensity and grandeur than by its 
incongruities and defects. 

On my return to Naples, Rosano having made the 
necessary arrangements for my departure, 1 took leave 
of him with a degree of affectionate regret which is 
seldom felt in separating from a transient acquaint- 
ance in his humble situation. The instances of ho- 
nesty and worth, and much more of sincere and dis- 
interested kindness, are so rare among the common 
people of Italy, that it is delightful to discover any 
relief in the dark picture of their moral degradation. 
This will be a sufficient reason for a more particular 
account of our cicerone, than the incidental notice 
which I have occasionally taken of him. When we 
left Rome he was an outside passenger in the cabriolet 
of our carriage. As he spoke a little English, he 


gradually attached himself to us, and seemed to find 
pleasure in rendering us those little services on the 
road which are so pleasant and acceptable to stran- 

He appeared to be perfectly acquainted with the 
customs of the country, and every body in it, and was 
Our guide and interpreter through the whole of the 
journey. He took trouble upon himself, in various 
ways, to promote our ease and comfort, and continued 
his attention till he had conducted us to an excellent 
hotel at Naples. 

Rosano had lived in some branch of Bonaparte's 
family, but his shrewdness, his strong natural sense, 
and the information he had picked up in the course 
of his migratory life, raised him much above his con- 
dition. He had spent ten years in France, and the 
rest of his life in rambling over his own country, and 
seemed to have made judicious observations on all 
that he had seen. 

Being pleased with his gratuitous kindness to us, 
we requested him to become our cicerone during our 
stay at Naples, and offered him more than is usually 
given. He replied, " that he was here on his own 
business^ which would occupy him from twelve to four 
o'clock. If he could be of any service to us through 
the remainder of the day, it should be cheerfully de- 
voted to us, but he must be allowed to decline all 
compensation." So singular an instance of disinter- 
estedness did not gain credit with us. We supposed 
he would ultimately accept, as a present, what he 
might not choose to receive as wages. From that 
time he waited upon us with the greatest assiduity, 


made the preparations for our rambles, arranged 
every thing afterwards, and managed our concerns 
with as much economy and strictness as his own. 
He knew r the artifices of all the people with whom 
strangers have to deal, and outwitted the deceivers. 
He resisted every unjust exaction, and repeatedly 
bore for us the railing and abuse of scurrilous tongues, 
with the firmness and patience of a friend. After so 
much fidelity, we offered him a suitable remunera- 
tion for his services. He again, with thankful ac- 
knowledgments, refused it. On pressing him, he re- 
plied, " that the gratification he had received was a 
sufficient reward, but that he would take the half of 
it as a memento." In such a man what an instance 
of refinement and delicacy! 

The separation from Mr. Hands was a painful 
event. He had, sometime before, engaged his pas- 
sage for Sicily. I had hoped to see him embark, but 
the great delay of the vessel prevented this satisfac- 
tion. He was still in a feeble and precarious state. 
The issue of the matter was doubtful. I knew his need 
of the company and cheering of a friend. I thought 
of his danger, and my own; the raging sea for him, 
the length of the solitary journey which yet remained 
for me, and the many uncertainties between a long 
farewell and a future greeting. We sat up the greater 
part of the night, and in the morning put a speedy 
end to the pains of parting.* 

* Mr. Hands returned home with scarcely any visible improvement in 
his health, but a change, it appears, had been wrought in his constitution, 
and he is now in a great measure restored. 



April 28th. I left Naples in company with Lieut. 
Clarke. Capt. Bennet and Capt. Chartres, of the 
British army, were also in the carriage. The former 
had the reserve so peculiar to his countrymen, with- 
out their gravity. The huge mustachios which he 
stroaked and adjusted every moment, presented only 
one instance of the ridiculous affectation which per- 
vaded his whole character. There was a good deal 
of gasconade and pretension in him, together with a 
degree of discourtesy and selfishness not often seen 
in military men. His companion, who was a Scotch- 
man, was more simple and cordial. Bennet had tra- 
velled in Palestine and Greece, and had spent seve- 
ral years in Italy, and Chartres also had been much 
abroad. Both were men of reading and education, 
and had there been more of sympathy and predilec- 
tion between us, we would have found them enter- 
taining companions. 

On coming out of Naples I saw some coarse paint- 
ings, representing the torments of souls in purgatory, 
on the walls of two or three houses inhabited by 
monks, who were appointed to solicit alms from the 
wayfaring, for the mitigation of their sufferings. Our 
driver to Caserta, a few days before, threw out some- 
thing to one of these idle mendicants, though I am 
persuaded he could not have been moved by all the 
pathetic importunity of real distress to give a sous. 

The vines, in tender leaf, hanging from tree to tree, 


fine fields of wheat, flax in blossom, and occasionally 
a patch of deep red clover, now gave the country that 
air of beauty and luxuriance so characteristic of the 
southern parts of Italy. The great fertility of the 
soil of Campania is attributed to the volcanic erup- 
tions in this region, for so many thousand years. It 
is a rich, black mould, which is sometimes six or 
eight feet deep, and which cannot be exhausted by 
any succession of crops, or any mode of cultivation. 

We stopped at Capua to breakfast, and were not a 
little diverted by the droll and decisive manner in 
which Bennet settled the account. As the pri; es 
had not been previously fixed, it was quite a matter 
of course that they should be unjust. He took up the 
bill, and casting his eye upon the first item, " What," 
said he, " have I been four years in Italy without learn- 
ing the price of maccaroni ? No, that must be reduc- 
ed to so much, mutton chop to so much ;" and thus he 
went on, marking down every article, according to 
his own ideas, till he had brought the bill to about 
half the original sum. The landlord stared at this 
procedure in a stranger, though it was common 
enough among his countrymen. He defended his 
charge, and loudly remonstrated against such dicta- 
tion. Bennet spoke to him in fluent Italian, improv- 
ed upon his own artifice, and overpowered him in vo- 
ciferation, and, at length, made him submit to this 
correction of his account. 

On leaving Capua we crossed the Volturnus, a 
small but pleasant river, and, as we proceeded, the 
country became more varied and agreeable. No- 
thing could exceed the strength and exuberance of 

Return to home. 217 

the soil. The sea opened upon us to the left, and the 
Appenines skirted the plains to the right. While in 
sight of their frozen tops we were melting with heat. 

In ascending mount Massicus, and crossing over 
its extended summit* we were delighted with a per- 
petual succession of pleasing prospects, where the 
soft beauties of cultivation were mingled with the 
wildness and grandeur of mountain scenery. 

In the course of the evening, at St. Agatha, Captain 
Bennet, throwing off a little of the reserve, which he 
had almost a right to maintain in his intercourse with 
Americans, entered into a conversation, which was 
as painful to him as gratifying to myself. It was the 
suppression of wounded pride to make way for the 
expression of more generous feelings. " I have been 
in America* You gained some glory in the battle of 
New-Orleans. It was a handsome affair." From the 
manner in which he spoke, he had evidently been a 
sharer in that day's humiliation; for here he sought 
to relieve it by explaining the causes of their failure 
and defeat. He was still more free in his praises 
of our kindness to the prisoners and respect to the 
slain. He dwelt particularly on the assistance which 
was rendered in burying the dead, and the deep 
emotion of the American officers on the battle ground, 
when they contemplated the awful carnage which 
they had made. These observations seemed to be 
an involuntary tribute of respect to an enemy, which 
neither justice nor gratitude would suffer him to with- 
hold. His mind was immediately unburthened by 
the discharge of it, and from that time he became 
more friendly and cordial. 



For some distance beyond Mola, the road was 
lined with the solid foundations and curious reticular 
work of ancient villas We examined the tomb of 
Cicero, and, clambering over the loose and massy 
Stones which incase it, entered the interiour. It 
consists of two stories. A large stone pillar rises 
from the centre of one chamber to the vault, and 
another of brick to the ceiling of the second. Here 
we see grass and shrubs springing from the sides, and 
ivy overrunning the top, the common ornaments of 
every mouldering tomb. Were it possible to establish 
the truth of tradition, with what veneration would 
this reputed monument of Cicero be regarded! His 
death, at first so cautiously shunned, at length was 
firmly met on these very shores; and though we are 
in doubt about his sepulchre, we still feel as if we 
may be near his ashes. 

From the wild and barren pass of Fondi, we de- 
scended into a smiling plain. The environs of the 
city on the southern side are brightened by groves 
of orange and lemon trees. 

We p&ssed the second night at Terracina. The 
neglect and indifference of the servants at supper, to- 
gether with repeated instances of impertinence, pro- 
voked us almost beyond endurance. The smothered 
indignation of Bennet; the look of Chartres, which 
seemed as if it would wither the object on whom it 
lighted ; the impetuous feelings of Clarke, who, in a 
sudden impulse, flew upon the principal offender, 
ivere out of all proportion to the occasion, though a 
3eries of petty vexations are perhaps more difficult to 
he borne than greater evils. Notwithstanding, one 


of these fellows cameup to Bennet the next morning, 
to beg something for his services. What a test to 
the temper of a choleric man ! The answer of the 
Captain, as might be supposed, was neither in cour- 
teous phrase nor gospel meekness. 

During this conversation 1 had stepped into a 
neighbouring coffee-house to take some refreshment 
When I had finished, the cqfatiere demanded twice 
as much as it was worth Just at that moment Ben- 
net came in with ruffled spirits, ready to boil over 
with the slightest flame. I mentioned to him this 
trivial instance of extortion: but it was enough. He 
pounced upon the miserable cafatiere, and shook him 
into a jelly. The creature was frightened out of his 
wits. An old man behind the counter, partaking of 
his panic, cried out, " For heaven's sake, gentlemen, 
pay us what you like, but let us alone." The sud- 
denness of the thing confounded me almost as much 
as the sufferers. 

The Linea Pia is lined on each side by a canal, and 
intersected in different parts by others. They were 
repairing and enlarging some of them as we passed. 
In a few places we observed coarse grass and rushes; 
but from what appears to the traveller, without going 
aside from his route, it would seem that the Pomptine 
marshes were successfully drained. There is a little 
Indian corn planted at hazard, but the greater part of 
the land that is reclaimed, is used for grazing. Mul- 
titudes of horses, droves of black hogs, and herds of 
buffaloes, are almost the only things which occupy 
the attention of the few persons who are rash enough 
to live in this deserted and pestilential region. 


The absence of those elegant retreats of the gen- 
try, so common in other parts of Italy, is a peculiar 
feature in the whole journey from Naples to Rome. 
This may perhaps be owing to the danger of living 
in the country, from the daring and audacious at- 
tempts of robbers and assassins. I counted myself on 
the way from Naples to the confines of the Ecclesiasti- 
cal State, a distance of about eighty miles, fbrty-three 
military stations, each of which consisted of seven or 
eight well armed soldiers, who were expressly ap- 
pointed to guard the road. This array of defence is 
an alarming indication of the traveller's insecurity. 
In the Pope's territory it disappears, but not on ac- 
count of the infrequency of crimes. Here the sight 
of a malefactor's skull in an iron cage, and the woods 
cut clown in many places on each side of the road, as 
a precaution against sudden and unforeseen attacks, 
still keep up our fears. The latter was the very ju- 
dicious idea of Murat, who nearly exterminated the 
banditti by his vigorous measures. But with the 
restoration of imbecile governments, the evils in- 
separable* from them, again begin to appear. A 
gentleman from Rome, who was on a visit to his es- 
tates near Terracina, had been seized by the robbers 
about the time we were returning, and carried to the 
mountains. They had sent a secret message to his 
family, demanding a ransom often thousand crowns, 
with a threat, if it were not given he should pay the 
forfeit with his head. I merely state the public ru- 
mour, for I had no opportunity of examining the fact, 
nor hearing the sequel. There was another report of 
the tragical issue of such a menace, in consequence 


of some deception on the part of the person seized, or 
some failure on the part of his friends. Two or three 
occurrences of a less atrocious nature were well 
known to have taken place in the course of a few 
months. But there has been a vast deal of exagge- 
ration on this subject. And the people of the country 
are much more exposed to the actual degree of dan- 
ger than strangers. As to myself, I never met with 
the slightest adventure, nor even an alarm that could 
form a romantic incident in my narrative. 

We left the carriage at Gensano, to go to the lake 
of Nemi. It is so smooth, and pure, and glassy, that 
it could not have had a more appropriate name than 
the Mirror of Diana. The high and shelving banks 
which form around it a perfect amphitheatre, are 
beautifully cultivated, and well wooded, and it is so 
deeply embosomed that no wind can approach to 
ruffle it. 

After an attentive, and, as we began to fear, a hope-* 
less search for the foundations of the Appian way, 
we at length discovered them. They are at the 
right of the tomb of the Horatii and Curiatii, and till 
closely inspected, they might easily be mistaken for 
a steep natural bank on the side of the road. Large 
masses of rock of irregular shape are piled upon each 
other, and fitted nicely together, or the interstices 
are filled up with smaller stones. The elevation of 
the part exposed is about twenty or five and twenty 
feet, and the solidity of the work is amazing. 



I revisited several of the antiquities of the city, 
and also went to see some for the first time. 

The Mamertine prisons, built by Ancus Martius, 
and afterwards restored by the consuls, have now the 
reputation of great sanctity, from the tradition that 
St Peter and St. Paul were confined in them. We 
descended into the two subterraneous apartments, 
one of which is immediately below the other. They 
are each lighted very faintly by a small aperture in 
the ceiling. It was the opinion of a celebrated anti- 
quarian, with whom I was acquainted at Rome, that 
this was the place in which Jugurtha was confined, 
and not the cell which is generally shown at the 

The Santa Scala consists of twenty-eight marble 
steps, which, according to popular belief, belonged 
to the palace of Pontius Pilate ; and as they had been 
hallowed \fy the footsteps of our Lord, they were tran- 
sported in the time of the Crusades from Jerusalem 
to Rome. The story is very improbable, though Capt. 
Bennet said that he had heard the same tradition in 
Palestine. This holy staircase stands in a fine por- 
tico, near the church of St. John Lateran ; and the de- 
vout pilgrims, who will not dishonour it by their feet, 
but mount it, with veneration, on their knees, have 
so worn away the steps that it has been found neces- 
sary to cover them with plank to prevent their total 
destruction. We saw several men and women clam- 

ROME, 22& 

Bering up, in this way, with awkward efforts, but, 
willing to save ourselves the trouble, we began to as- 
cend on our feet. A monk immediately checked us 
for our profaneness, and we could only look at them 
from the outer court. 

In a visit to St. John Lateran to-day, my atten- 
tion was almost entirely confined to the Corsini cha- 
pel, which I had only glanced at before. There is 
the greatest harmony in the proportions, and a sim- 
plicity in the decorations, which is seldom combined 
with so much costliness and splendour. It is inlaid 
with rare and beautiful marbles. The statues of dis- 
tinguished sculptors standing in front of the altar, and 
filling up the niches, are emblematical of the Chris- 
tian virtues and graces. Basso relievos of the most 
exquisite labour, set off the martial exploits of the 
family, and superb monuments perpetuate their 
names. The ancient sarcophagus of porphyry, taken 
from the portico of the Pantheon, and supposed to 
have contained the ashes of Agrippa, is now the de- 
pository of Clement the Twelfth's, who erected this 
chapel. The light and well proportioned dome is 
the finishing grace of the structure. Where the or- 
naments are so varied and minute, and the effect 
depends so much upon the taste exhibited in their 
adjustment, it is impossible for description to do any 
thing more than raise general ideas of their symme- 
try and elegance 

The Borghese chapel is exceedingly like it, though 
more gay and gorgeous. The church of Santa Ma- 
ria Maggiore, of which it is a part, is one of the seven 
Basilicae of Rome. Forty Ionic columns of marble 

224 ROME, 

and granite that separate the nave from the aisles*,, 
would give this building a glorious distinction, if 
there were nothing else to praise. 

But of all that I saw in this region of wonders (for 
ever excepting the Pantheon and St. Peter's) nothing 
appeared more stately than the basilica of St. Paul. 
The exterior is mean, within it is naked, and the 
whole has the marks of dilapidation and decay; but 
the forty fluted pillars of white marble, streaked with 
veins of violet, and forty others of Parian marble, 
which together divide the church into five naves, 
and, finally, forty more of granite, cippoline, and por- 
phyry, placed about the chancel and altar, produce 
such beauty of perspective, such an air of solidity, 
such a resemblance to the richness and pomp of an- 
cient architecture, that I gazed at it with astonish- 
ment and delight; now examining the perfect polish 
and precious quality of some of the columns, and 
the gigantic dimensions of others, and now turning 
my attention to the general effect of their striking 

Having learned that an acquaintance from New- 
York had arrived, I went immediately in search of 
his lodgings. On getting, as I supposed, to the door 
of the hotel, I inquired of one of the servants whe- 
ther Mr. Leonard staid there. " Signore Leonardini ? 
Yes, Sir, you will find him in the second story." Here 
repeating my inquiry, I was informed that he was 
out. At that moment a lady entered and begged 
leave to ask whether I had any particular business 
with him. " No, Madam, it is merely a call of friend- 
ship. Mr. Leonard is a gentleman whom I had the 

home. 225 

pleasure of knowing in America, and I therefore felt 
desirous of seeing him here." " Sir," she replied, 
" there must be some mistake. Signore Leonardini is 
my husband, and belongs to Rome." This embarrass- 
ing adventure was occasioned by the singular coinci- 
dence of names differing slightly, only in the termi- 
nation, which I supposed was merely a local trans- 
formation. That I should have mistaken this pri- 
vate dwelling for his hotel, and found a person there 
who bore a name so analogous to his own, was a 
singular stroke of chance. And the blunder to which 
it led, with the curious eclair cissement, though awk- 
ward at the time, was diverting enough on reflec- 


An Arabian Night's Entertainment with all its ex- 
travagance, is not more wonderful than what is here 
brought before our eyes. The vast magnitude of the 
building, divided into twenty-two courts, and con- 
taining twelve thousand chambers, is less surprising 
than the immense variety of the ornaments in the 
different parts, and the continued array of treasures 
which almost wearies the attention of the beholder.* 

The paintings in the Borghese apartment have 
been already noticed. 

From this we went into the Sistine Chapel. I had 
been there frequently before, when there was no op- 
portunity of examining the celebrated piece of Mi- 
chael Angelo, over the altar, representing the last 

* The Vatican is 1080 feet in length and 720 in breadth 

226 KOME. 

judgment. It has suffered from the humidity of the 
place, and from the smoke of the torches, in the fre- 
quent illuminations of the chapel, but not so much 
as to disqualify connoisseurs for forming an opinion 
of its original merits. I hardly know what that is ? 
and shall only mention how it struck me. 

When I read the account of this solemn event, 
given by our Lord, or the sublime descriptions of 
Massillon, who fills up the rapid and impressive 
sketch, I am always affected, I feel like a spectator 
anoT a party, and alternately tremble and rejoice. 
Some touches of Bourdaloue thrill me with horror. 

In looking at the work of Michael Angelo, there 
are none of these emotions. The crowd of figures 
in the piece raise no idea of an assembled uni- 
verse. The just, caught up in the clouds of heaven s 
have not the light and joy of glorified spirits. The 
wicked, cast down into hell, do not present a scene 
of deep and unmingled horror. But it is broken 
by circumstances of a ludicrous and disgusting na- 
ture. The Son of man, even on the throne of his 
glory, might be expected to have some trace of the 
man of sorrows, something in the majesty of the 
Godhead like the tenderness of humanity ; but here 
he appears with threatening attitude and furious 
looks, like an avenging judge delighting in the sen- 
tence which he inflicts. There is neither the serene 
and immoveable dignity of the King of kings, nor a 
sign of that commiseration which suffers for calamities 
that it cannot relieve. The Son of God is marked 
with all the violence of human passions ; and the 
mindj which can scarcely be pleased with the mild- 

ROME. 227 

«st and most engaging exhibition of a divine person- 
age, is shocked by one that degrades him 

The history of the creation is traced out on the 
ceiling by the same master. The prophets and 
sibyls filling up the angles and corners, are bold and 

The creation was the first attempt of Michael An- 
gelo in fresco painting. He undertook it with great 
reluctance, but the importunate wishes of his patron^ 
Julius II. were not to be resisted. Besides the dis- 
trust of his own powers, some unexpected obstacles 
in the prosecution of the work almost discouraged 
him. They were, however, at length removed by 
the anxious attention of the Pope, and by a success 
which surprised himself. Julius watched the pro- 
gress of his labours with an eager curiosity, and not 
being satisfied with the partial and imperfect views 
he could get from the scaffolding, ordered it to be 
taken down before the work was half completed. 
The reputation of the artist did not suffer by this pre- 
mature exhibition. The scaffolding was once more 
raised, but before he had given the finishing touches 
to the painting the Pope's impatience could hold out 
no longer, and it was a second time removed. " On 
All Saints' Day, in the year 1512, the chapel was 
opened, and the Pope officiated at high mass to a 
crowded and admiring audience. After this solem- 
nity, and when the public curiosity was gratified, the 
Pope consented that the pictures should be retouched, 
but Michael Angelo contemplating the inconvenience 
of erecting the scaffolding, declined doing any thing 
more, and said, " That what was wanting, was not of 

228 ROME. 

material importance." The Pope observed, that the 
pictures ought to be ornamented with gold, to give a 
characteristic splendour to the chapel. To which 
Michael Angelo replied, " In those days of simplicity, 
gold was not worn, and the characters I have paint- 
ed were neither rich nor desirous of wealth, but holy 
men, with whom gold was an object of contempt."* 

On leaving the Sistine Chapel, we enter into a 
gallery several hundred feet long, the sides of which 
are covered with inscriptions nicely inserted into the 
walls. Those on the left were found in the catacombs 
in the neighbourhood of Rome. Those on the right 
are pagan, and many of them of a much more ancient 
date. They are classed according to the objects to 
which they relate. Beneath the inscriptions on each 
side of the corridor, there is a continued range of 
busts and statues, and other interesting relicks of 
antiquity. This rare and extensive collection fur- 
nishes the curious with an inexhaustible fund of oc- 
cupation and amusement. 

In the square vestibule is the famous Torso of Bel- 
vedere. /This is part of a statue of Hercules at rest, 
the work of Apollonius, an Athenian sculptor. Here 
is also the stone sarcophagus of Scipio Barbatus, 
grandfather of Scipio Africanus, plainly adorned with 
a dorick frieze. How much more would we feel had 
it contained the ashes of the latter! 

There is nothing deserving of notice in the round 
vestibule, though from the balcony we enjoyed one 
of the finest views of Rome. It is from this circum- 

* Life of Michael Angelo byDuppa, p. 78, 79- 

ROME. 229 

stance that the part of the Vatican through which we 
were passing has received the name of Belvedere. 

From the chamber of Meleager, so called on ac- 
count of a highly esteemed statue of that personage, 
which constitutes its distinguishing ornament, we 
entered into the portico of the court. It is supported 
by sixteen granite pillars, and the form of it is octago- 
nal. Plain sarcophagi, and others beautifully sculp- 
tured, representing a variety of mythological and 
poetical subjects, are placed around the portico. 
Superb bathing tubs of black and green basalt, and 
common and red granite, columns of white marble 
covered with leaves and grotesque figures, basso re- 
lievos enchased in the walls, merely make up the 
outward ornaments of this court. The chambers 
behind contain the most precious remains of Grecian 
sculpture, and the finest specimens of modern art. 
The Perseus of Canova, who has just cut off the head 
of Medusa, rivals in a degree some of the most boast- 
ed works of antiquity. The attitude is so just, the 
form so graceful, and the soft beauty of every part 
so finished, that a common eye finds nothing to 
blame, and critics even lose their severity. The ex- 
pression, however, has been thought inappropriate. 
Perseus looks upon the head which he holds in his 
hand with indignant complacency, instead of turning 
from it with horror. But the sculptor appears to me 
to be right, and the objector wrong. 

It requires a pugilist to determine whether the 
wrestlers of Canova, in the same apartment, are 
proofs of his skill, and whether the retiring, but me- 
nacing position of one of them, with one fist on his 

230 ROME. 

head, and the other on his back, can be defended 
by any rule of the art 

The Mercury of Belvedere or Antinous, in the se- 
cond cabinet, is a faultless representation of manly 

The famous group of Laocoon fills the principal 
niche in the third. May I, without presumption, 
speak differently of this ? The anguish of the father 
should have been expressed with some mixture of 
commiseration for his unhappy sons. For, can per- 
sonal suffering ever extinguish parental feeling? 
The artists have followed the poet : but ought they 
not to have supplied the omission ? There is scarcely 
a degree of agony, when a little protracted, where 
this instinctive impulse would not be shown by a 
father towards his children who were writhing with 

The Apollo Belvedere is seen in the last cabinet. 
The arrow has just fled from his bow. The fine al- 
titude, the union of strength and beauty, the free and 
noble air of the angry god, without any violent dis- 
turbance'of his serenity, represent something more 
than mortal, and nature is surpassed, even in her 
most perfect forms, by the genius of man. 

Then follows the hall of animals, which is divided 
into two parts by a vestibule, adorned with sixty-five 
pilasters and pillars of granite. There are represent- 
ations of some on the pavement in ancient mosaic. 
Others, wrought out of white and gray marble, brescia, 
and variegated alabaster, are placed around the vast 
apartments on tables of stone. A few of the animals 
are grouped with human figures, to exhibit the fabu- 

ROME. 231 

lous exploits of Hercules, and other stories of the po- 
ets. The collection is large, and many things are 
admirable, but I was particularly pleased with the 
natural expression of agony in a horse attacked by a 
lion. The strong distortion of the face, the contrac- 
tion of the muscles, the speaking attitude of the poor 
animal, together with the voracious fury of the lion, 
gave it a reality and life but seldom seen in marble. 

In the Gallery of Statues, the light and airy figure 
of Diana, sending forth her arrow in the chace, with 
the easy folds of her garments floating behind her, is 
a most captivating object The beautiful Ariadne, 
in a reclining posture, lamenting her desertion by 
Theseus, is full of dignity and tenderness. 

Amidst the multitude of faces in the Hall of Busts, 
comprising so many emperors and empresses, philo- 
sophers and heroes, it is impossible to retain a very 
distinct recollection of any. But it is highly interest- 
ing at the time to compare their countenances with 
their story, to look in the face of Julius Caesar for the 
traits of his greatness, to see all conjecture baffled by 
the amiable expression of Nero in his boyhood, to 
be disappointed with the looks of the high-minded 
Trajan, and to search in vain for the voluptuousness 
and cruelty of Heliogabalus. The face of Tiberius 
is suited to the man, dissembling his character and 
his purposes. Marcus Aurelins is frank and noble, 

Caracalla a ruffian. To mark this correspondence 
or disagreement with what history leads us to expect, 
is so amusing, that I regret my negligence in not hav- 
ing noted down, at the time, the different impression? 
which were in any degree worth recording. 


The small cabinet adjoining the Hall of Busts in- 
spires one with delight, even after curiosity is languid^ 
and admiration almost exhausted. It is ornamented 
with sixteen columns and pilasters of alabaster. On 
the vaulted ceiling we see the celebration of the 
nuptials of Bacchus and Ariadne; and beneath, in a 
mosaic pavement found at the villa of Adrian, a 
pleasant landscape with a shepherd and his goats, 
bordered with a festoon of fruits interwoven with 
leaves. Nothing can be more delicate and beautiful. 
Several niches in the walls are filled with ancient 
statues. Above them we trace, in bass-relief, the 
labours of Hercules. A graceful finish is given to 
the whole, by a sculptured frieze that supplies the 
place of the cornice. A large and elegant bowl of 
rouge antique, and a chair cut out of the same mate- 
rial, are placed under the window, and four seats of 
porphyry, with bronze feet, below the niches. The 
tout ensemble is surprising. I never saw any thing so 
minute, so rich and imposing. Every one lingers 
here insensibly, however, he may be pressed. And 
it is a pleasure to revive the sensations of this place, 
even by a dull and faded recollection. 

The Chamber of the Muses is on a larger scale. 
The sixteen pillars of snow white marble from Car- 
rara, with ancient capitals, found in the villa of Adri- 
an, are a suitable accompaniment to the valuable col- 
lection of statues with which this chamber is filled. 
Here are the tragic and comic, the epic and lyric, 
and all the other muses, discovered at Tivoli, in the 
country house of Cassius. Melpomene and Thalia, 
Calliope and Erato, Clio and Urania, are each dis- 

ROMEi 233 

iinguished by some expressive emblem, and some 
appropriate grace. The busts of the Grecian sages, 
taken from the same villa, occupy the places between 
them, together with the Grecian lawgivers, orators, 
and poets. The ceiling is painted in allusion to the 
characters of the assemblage below, and the mosaic 
pavement keeps up the harmonious correspondence. 

From this apartment we pass into a grand circular 
ball. The large marble pilasters, the colossal busts 
resting on blocks of porphyry, and the statues of the 
most illustrious and virtuous emperors, which encir- 
cle this rotundo, would be enough of themselves 
to dignify a princely abode. But the immense basin 
of porphyry, forty-five feet in circumference, formed 
of a single piece, and a superb mosaic pavement 
beneath, found at Otricoli, give us ideas of imperial 
luxury and pomp, that even the laboured descriptions 
of historians have never raised. 

I shall pass over the endless variety of things 
"which distract the attention in the next apartment, 
excepting two, which almost entirely absorb it. One 
of these is the sepulchral urn of St. Constantia. It 
is of great size and elegant form. The sides of it 
are covered with sculptured ornaments, showing the 
rustic occupation of children engaged in the vintage. 
This beautiful monument is of the finest porphyry. 

The other, which is the tomb of St. Helena, though 
of the same material, and equally striking at first sight, 
shows, in the want of just perspective in the basso 
relievos with which it is adorned, the great decline 
of the arts in the age of Constantine. 

The room adjoining is called the Chamber of the 


234 ROME, 

Chariot. There are eight fluted columns around this 
small rotundo, and as many intermediate niches 
filled with statues. An ancient chariot, drawn by 
two horses, in miniature, stands in the centre of the 
room. From the extreme delicacy and frailty of the 
work, it is a matter of surprise that it should have 
been so perfectly preserved. 

The staircase of the museum, consisting of three 
flights, is of marble, and the balustrade of bronze. 
Two statues are placed on the first stage, emblema- 
tical of the Tigris and the Nile. The twenty pillars 
of granite through which we descend, form a most 
elegant and stately colonnade. Wonder increases at 
every step, and here it seems as if it must cease. 

"We then pass into a gallery, divided into six 
parts, where we see an astonishing display of can- 
delabri of the most beautiful forms and decorations, 
vases of white and coloured marbles, Egyptian mo- 
numents, statues, and other curiosities. 

The walls of the next communicating in a line 
with this, are covered with painted maps of the 
several parts of Italy. And in another range of 
apartments, they are completely lined with the ta- 
pestry made after the cartoons of Raphael. The 
leading events of the Gospel are here strikingly de- 
picted, and notwithstanding the imperfection of the 
fabricks at the age when the copies were taken, the 
genius of the painter breaks out in every part. 

The chambers of Raphael suffered formerly from 
the abuse of a barbarous and brutal soldiery in the 
victory of Charles V. who lodged and made fire in 
them, and at present they are injured by the humi=* 

ROME. 235 

ctity of the place. But though they are so faded and 
discoloured, we see enough to account, in some de- 
gree, for their reputation at the first glance. Every 
successive look brings forth some unnoticed grace, 
some hidden charm, some happy thought or striking 
design of the artist, which, when combined by a ge- 
neral review, produce the same effect on every mind, 
Who can look at the conflagration del Borgo, the 
school of Athens, the chasing of Heliodorus from the 
temple, and the deliverance of St. Peter from prison, 
without feeling an enthusiastic admiration ! And who 
that has seen them, will not sigh that they are perish- 
ing, and soon can be seen no more ! 

The copies of the cartoons of Raphael by his pu- 
pils, and even some of the best works of the master, 
are exposed to the open air in the grand portico of 
the Vatican, and destined to a still more hasty de- 

The vast and inestimable library presents little 
more to the eye of the spectator, than the succession 
of splendid apartments which contain it. The books 
are chiefly in close cases, and classed according to 
their respective languages. 

The principal part of them are in the grand haJJ, 
which is about two hundred and forty feet long, fifty 
feet wide, and thirty feet high. The walls and ceil- 
ing are embellished with arabesque and other paint- 
ings. Etruscan vases, of the highest antiquity, and 
various forms, showing the first rude sketches of the 
pencil, are arranged upon the cases. Two immense 
granite tables, supported by griffins in bronze, seem 
scarcely worthy of notice in this gaudy and sumptu- 

236 ROME. 

ous hall. There is a wondering gaze in most per- 
sons who enter it, but it is amusing to see the wild 
and delighted looks of the peasantry who pour in on 

The library is continued in another gallery, which 
is more than three hundred feet long. It is divided 
into six apartments, where we see the same costliness 
and prodigality that prevail throughout this palace. 
There are in this suite more than a hundred columns 
of alabaster, granite, corrylina africana, porphyry, 
jaune, and verd antique, and other rare and beauti- 
ful marbles, These are followed by cabinets of 
engravings, antiques, and coins. What temporal 
prince ever had such an abode! What Caesar is 
not eclipsed by the pontiffs of Rome! But it is a 
public possession, and open to all the world. Ser- 
vants are constantly in readiness to conduct strangers 
through every part, who demand nothing, and ex- 
pect only a trifling compensation. On Sundays and 
Thursdays the Vatican can be visited by the poorest 
of mankind, because then even this gratuity is pro- 


It is some time since the Vatican has become an 
unhealthy residence in summer. The malaria which 
has made a desolate waste of the neighbouring coun- 
try, has now got within the very walls of Rome ; and 
during the warm months the Pope resides at another 
palace on the Quirinal hill. We were conducted 
through every part of this building, except the cham- 
ber where the Pope happened to be at the time we 

ROME. 237 

were visiting it. The palace is furnished with an 
unostentatious splendour, and elegant simplicity that 
delighted us. There was no glare nor profusion., but 
in all the ornaments a studied attention to the cha- 
racter of the sacred person who inhabited it. We 
were somewhat surprised, however, to see in one of 
the apartments chequer boards and a billiard table. 
The servant observed, that they were provided for 
the guests of the Pope. But these amusements are 
universally considered innocent on the continent. 


In visiting the different palaces of Rome, we usu- 
ally drive into the court with the freedom of the mas- 
ter. But Cardinal Fesch requires a written request, 
which meets with a formal answer, appointing the 
time when his gallery may be seen. His study is in 
one part of it, and if he were not to set aside particular 
days for the exhibition, his privacy would be entirely 
destroyed. There are fifteen or sixteen chambers 
filled with paintings in the different schools. Among 
such a number there must be many of inferior merit, 
but still there is so large a proportion of the first order 
as to give it an extravagant and incalculable value. 
I was delighted with several at the time ; but it would 
be useless to enumerate them, as there is scarcely a 
faded remembrance left behind, even of Titian's St. 
Jerome, or Da Vinci's Supper, or Carlo Dolce's Sa- 
viour. In passing through one of the chambers we 
saw the Cardinal, who entered into conversation with 
us, and obligingly made his remarks upon the pictures 
around us. There was the greatest elegance and 

238 ROME. 

courtliness in his carriage, and an easy stateliness, 
accompanied with a slight degree of modesty, that 
at once inspired confidence and respect. His stature 
was rather above the middle size, his complexion 
clear and florid, and his countenance grave and com- 
posed, though I should think, on occasion, that it 
might be lightened up by the brightest and most ani- 
mated expression. 


The Aurora of Guido Reni is on the ceiling of a 
pavilion in the garden of this palace. It is a large 
fresco painting, representing Apollo, the emblem of 
the sun, drawn by four fiery steeds, and surrounded 
by seven nymphs, who denote the hours. They are 
holding each others hands, and, with the most grace- 
ful attitudes, their garments floating loosely in the 
wind, are pressing on with the golden chariot, and 
rejoicing like the sun to run their course. Hesper, 
bearing a torch, hovers over the horses, and Aurora, 
scattering flowers, flies before them. The colours are 
as fresh arid bright as the morning upon the moun- 
tains, when the sun, peering above them, " fires the 
proud tops of the eastern pines, and darts his light" 
throughout the world. The easy grouping of the 
figures, together with their gay and joyous expression, 
are suited to the character and companions of the 
god of day. It is one of the happiest representations 
of mythological story, and is so admired by the 
severe and correct as well as the unpractised eye, 
that it doubtless deserves the place which has been 
assigned it — among the first productions of the art. 

ROME. 239 

But there is a slight particular in the piece for which 
there was very probably some reason in the mind of 
the painter, though I could not conceive it. The 
flames of Hesper's torch, which, meeting with the 
resistance of the air in their rapid flight, should have 
been carried backward, nevertheless fly towards the 
heads of the horses. The drapery of the nymphs, 
and the manes of the steeds, are influenced by the 
common law of nature. But why is this torch in 
contradiction to it? 


We wrote a note to Lucien Bonaparte, requesting 
permission to see his gallery. The pictures, in fact, 
are the ornaments of the chambers occupied by the 
family, and for that reason it is not always conveni- 
ent to show them. A polite answer, stating the time 
when it would be opened to us, was immediately re- 

The collection is small but valuable. There are 
several fine Flemish pieces, and a few by Leonardo 
da Vinci, Aliori, Guido, and Annibal Caracci. Our 
Saviour before Pontius Pilate, is merely a repetition 
of that wonderful talent of Gerardi del Notte, of ma- 
naging torch light in the dusky groups, collected to- 
gether in darkness. A small statue of Apollo re- 
ceives a borrowed charm from having been found 
in Cicero's villa at Tusculanum. 

Lucien .Bonaparte, who bears the title of the 
Prince of Camino, lives with a kind of simple state 
becoming the fallen fortunes of his family. His so- 
ciety is studiously shunned by all who enjoy or wish 



the favour of the Papal court. The nobility of Eng-* 
land who side with the ministry maintain the same 
distance; but gentlemen in the opposition, and most 
Americans, still visit him. The marriage of his 
daughter with a prince of Bologna took place while 
we were here. From this it would appear, that the 
sentiment which prevails against him in Rome is by 
no means general in Italy. 


The story of Cupid and Psyche is painted on the 
Vault of the first chamber, after the designs of Ra- 
phael. Many parts were retouched, with great care, 
by himself. In one of the three graces this is very 

The Galatea, in the adjoining room, is entirely his 
own work. She is sitting in a marine shell as her 
car, which is drawn by dolphins, and a sea nymph, 
supported by a Triton, is in her train. There is a 
pleasing sensation produced by the contemplation of 
such beauty, which continues even after the image 
of it has become faint and confused. 

In one corner of the ceiling there is a bold and ex- 
pressive head, hastily and roughly drawn with char- 
coal by Michael Angelo. It is said, that while Ra- 
phael was painting this chamber, he would not suffer 
Michael Angelo to see it; but that the latter, getting 
in by stealth, scratched this masterly sketch, to vex 
him by the power of a genius which could equal, in 
a moment, his most laboured efforts. 

There are also many fine paintings in the Doria 
and Borghese palaces. 

ROME. 241 

Since the famous picture of the Transfiguration has 
been removed to the Vatican, the church of St. Pie- 
tro, in Montorio, has lost every attraction but its 
beautiful and elevated situation. 

It appears as if doubts, with regard to the traditions 
of Popery in countries where Protestantism is un- 
known, are apt to take refuge in universal scepti- 
cism. An Italian gentleman, in company, observed 
to me, " that on this hill St Peter was crucified." I 
replied, u that it was very much questioned whether 
St. Peter had ever been at Rome, though the scrip- 
tures established the point of St. Paul's residence 
here." The shaking of one opinion seemed to un- 
settle both, " Perhaps then," he added, " neither St. 
Peter nor St. Paul were ever here." 

In returning, we stopped a few moments at the 
church of St. Onofrio, to see the monument of the 
unhappy Tasso. Broken down by persecution, and 
the constant agitation of an unsettled life, he came 
to the convent attached to this church, " to beg a 
little earth for charity, and lay down his weary bones 
in peace." The memorial is simple, but could em- 
blazoning add any thing to such a name? 

From Monte Mario, a commanding hill without 
the walls of Rome, the undulating city is seen in all 
its grandeur and extent. The palaces, towers, and 
domes, rising above the rest, are themselves over- 
topped by the tomb of Adrian, the aspiring height of 
the Coliseum, and the majestic pile of St. Peter's 
and the Vatican. We can also perceive the irregular 
lines of Aurelian's walls, now enclosing so much of 
vacant space, which was once filled with people. In 



looking towards the south, the eye finds nothing to 
rest upon, excepting the tomb of Cecilia Metella, till 
it has reached Albano and the bright and cheerful 
town of Frescati. Turning towards the east, we see 
Tivoli, with the long chain of hills behind it ; and 
mounting up towards the north, with the windings 
of the Tiber, we meet with the pointed peak of Sor- 
acte. Rome itself, from the uneven surface of the 
ground on which it is built, the scattered ruins, the 
extensive gardens, and naked fields within its own 
enclosure, combines the most picturesque views, with 
the artificial appearance of a cit y. 

The skulls of ten assassins, exposed in iron cages 
over the gate of St. Angelo, produce a moral pang, 
which overpowers the feelings that the contempla- 
tion above has just inspired. They remind us of 
atrocities which shock us in themselves, and which 
indicate a state of society among the poor, more de- 
based and inhuman than is to be found in almost 
any other Christian country. There was a loud com- 
plaint among all liberal and well informed Italians 
against the mistaken clemency of the Pope towards 
these miscreants. The facility of obtaining pardon 
defeated the just severity of the laws, and encouraged 
the commission of crimes. While we were there, 
a large number of the robbers surrendered themselves 
to the Pope, on a promise of forgiveness and freedom 
after one year's imprisonment. Who can suppose 
that this was from an unfeigned repentance, and not 
rather from an apprehension of being taken and pun- 
ished? Had they given themselves up for transporta- 
tion the stipulation might have been both wise and 

ROME. 24S 

merciful, but, on the present condition, it was im- 
becility and madness. 

We went two or three times to the cabinet and 
work- shop of Canova. The colossal statue of Napo- 
leon is kept a little out of view. The three graces 
which were just completed for an English nobleman, 
have lessened the distance between ancient and 
modern skill. Several works of inexpressible beauty 
were likewise prepared for the Prince Regent. The 
selection was, perhaps, dictated by his taste and 
habits — Venus sleeping — Venus triumphant — Venus 
in every circumstance and attribute. We were in- 
formed that the Princess Borghese, a sister of Bona- 
parte, furnished the model of the upper part of these 
figures. What an ignoble vanity in so illustrious a 
personage! And if we can scarcely excuse this re- 
volting practice, even where there is the plea of hard 
necessity, what must wp think of this voluntary de- 
gradation ? 

But the object most interesting to an American, 
was the cast of Washington, just formed after the 
picture of Stuart. He is so metamorphosed, that the 
resemblance must only be sought in the face. I 
thought it plain and somewhat striking, but one of 
the company was of a different opinion. His civil 
dress is thrown aside, his hair is cut short, and the 
statesman gives place to the hero. He appears in 
the military costume of the Romans, and it requires 
some effort of the mind to recognize the founder of 
our republic under so strange and unusual an as- 
pect It excited great curiosity at Rome, and was 
visited with eagerness by all descriptions of people* 

244 home. 

palace of the senator. 

From the top of the tower we can clearly trace 
the limits of the ancient city. The Capitoline, the 
Aventine, and the Palatine mounts, have lost much 
of their elevation by an immense accumulation of 
soil and ruins in the intervening spaces, but still they 
may be plainly distinguished. The Ccelian is slightly 
marked, the Esquiline and Viminal are almost lost, 
the Quirinal is more discernible. 

The ruins of the palace of the Caesars cover the 
original site of the city. Immediately below the 
porticos, the scattered pillars, the fragments of tem- 
ples, the triumphal arches, remind us of the splen- 
dour of the Roman Forum. A little farther to the 
right are the vast remains of Caracalla's baths, in the 
distant view the tomb of Caius Cestius, directly in 
front the amphitheatre of Titus, to the left the tem- 
ple of Minerva, and the shattered arches of an aque- 
duct, stretching towards the church of Saint John 

In thte part of Rome we behold a scanty popula- 
tion, or desertion and solitude, but the once open 
plain of the Campus Martius is now covered with 
inhabitants. The Pantheon, the columns of Trajan 
and Antoninus, and the tomb of Adrian, are the only 
remains of antiquity which we can see from this 
point in the modern city. What is before us, and 
what is visible in the neighbourhood around us, com- 
prising the whole scene of early Roman story, cannot 
be viewed without singular emotions. From the 
height on which we stand, we seem to be looking 

ROME. 245 

back on past generations; and while we contemplate 
this famous region, we feel as if we were brought 
nearer to the events which made it so memorable. 


The fragments of the ancient plan of Rome, en- 
chased into the walls of the staircase, are too imper- 
fect and isolated to assist materially the researches 
of the antiquarian. 

The I sis and Apis, the priests and priestesses, and 
all the other Egyptian figures found at the Canope, 
a building belonging to the villa of Adrian, are 
marked by the same stiffness, deformity, and un- 
meaning expression of face and attitude. 

In the imperial hall, the statue of Agiippina, wife 
of Germanicus, is much admired for the beauty of the 
drapery. Her pensive posture and dignified air are 
at once expressive of her pride and misfortunes. The 
busts of the emperors and their wives presented faces 
so familiar, that we were often able to distinguish 
them without the help of a catalogue. 

It is impossible, amidst such a crowd of things, to 
come away with a distinct remembrance of many. 
Life retiring, however, from the fixed countenance 
and sinking limbs of the dying warrior, who has half 
fallen upon his buckler; the beautiful but manly 
form of Antinous; and the Venus of the Capitol, can- 
not easily be forgotten. 


Some basso relievos inserted into the walls above 
the first stage of the staircase, representing the sacri- 

246 ROME. 

fices and triumphs of Marcus Aurelius, are of a bold 
and masterly execution. 

The fresco paintings of D'Arpino, Lauretti, and 
Daniel of Volterra, exhibiting the whole series of re- 
markable events in the first ages of Rome, are not 
so much admired for their intrinsic excellence, as 
their apt and appropriate character in such a place. 
In one of the halls we saw the she wolf, in bronze, 
which is supposed by some to be the same that was 
dedicated by the Curule iEdiles, three hundred years 
before the Christian sera. This interesting remain, 
which has the harshness and stiffness to be expected 
in a work of that remote epoch, is as curious in the 
history of the arts as venerable for its antiquity. 

The small bronze statue of the shepherd plucking 
a thorn out of his foot, is one of the most natural 
things in the world. The bent and cramped position 
of the body, and the attentive and careful expression 
of the countenance, are wonderfully suited to the 

Before leaving Rome, I paid a long deferred visit 
to the Marchioness of Massimo. She received me 
so courteously, and made the formality of a first call 
so much like the easy and unconstrained conversa- 
tion of a longer acquaintance, that I felt, with morti- 
fication and regret, how much I had lost in not hav- 
ing delivered my letters sooner. 

Baron Akkerblad was polite and attentive to us. 
This gentleman is said to be acquainted with twenty- 
six languages. From his reputation as an antiquary, 
he is employed by the Dutchess of Devonshire to 
superintend the excavations which are carried on at 

HOME. 247 

lier expense. The last time I saw him, he was in a 
transport with a discovery which he had just made of 
a beautiful head of Venus, at the foot of the column 
of Phocas. 

On the day of my departure from Rome I made 
a final visit to St Peter's. 1 had not yet seen the 
subterraneous part or remains of the ancient Basilica 
on which the new church was built. 1 now went 
down, and, in this gloomy repository of the dead, 
walked among the monuments of pontiffs and princes. 
But how insignificant would these have appeared 
could I have listened to tradition as the voice of truth, 
and believed myself near the ashes of St. Peter! 

Coming back again into the light and glory of the 
region above, it seemed to shine with a new splen- 
dour. I ranged through the aisles, gave an intent 
look at the dome, and from this point, which shows 
the collected majesty of the edifice, strove to make 
an impression which might last for ever. I returned 
by the grand nave with lingering steps, and a feeling 
of melancholy that I had not expected. The pride 
of the whole earth was to be seen no more. The 
last look was given, and yet I returned to give it 
another. At length I hurried away from it with that 
kind of moral sensation, that pain of parting, which 
no other work of man is so likely to inspire. 

In one of our visits to St. Peter's, we went up on 
the dome, Setting out in a circular tower, we follow 
a path that winds around spirally on an inclined plane 
till it reaches the roof. Here, besides the several 
cupolas, are workshops, artificers, and a permanent 
establishment to keep the upper part ©f the* building 

248 home. 

in repair. We continued to ascend by a staircase 
running around the inside of the dome, till we came 
to the ball. This is perhaps fifteen feet in diameter, 
and encompassed by a narrow gallery with a balus- 
trade. A copper ladder on the outside, adapted to the 
shape of the ball, and placed a few inches from it, 
leads to the cross at the top. We were already more 
than four hundred feet above the ground, but having 
never experienced the slightest degree of giddiness, 
it did not seem hazardous to venture still higher. 
Trusting, therefore, to the strength of my hands and 
head, I mounted the ladder, with my body bent, as 
when a sailor climbs about a round-top. Finding that 
it soon drew so near to the ball as not to leave room 
enough for safe footing, and reflecting that the full 
view of my danger might intimidate me, I returned 
when I was almost within arms length of the cross. 
A gentleman belonging to the British navy, who was 
up at the same time, actually touched it. 

An arrangement had been made for me with a 
voiturin, who, for an extraordinary price, avas to take 
me alone in a cabriolet to Ancona. At the appointed 
hour he came. " Sir," said be, " there is a little lad 
who would be glad to have a seat with you as far as 
Terni." " No, I pay you well to go alone, and if you 
dislike the condition, the bargain is at an end." 
" Well," he replied, " I am perfectly willing." He 
stopped a moment to indulge in a little vociferation, 
and then pretended to be going. But the agreement 
was soon signed, and having taken leave of two or 
three of my acquaintances, and received the affec- 
tionate adieus of my Italian friend, I set out on my 

ROME. 249 

The separation from Totti was attended with un- 
common regret. From the first time we saw him at 
Florence, we were pleased with the frankness of his 
manners, his kindness, and good nature. He had 
been a captain in the French army, and spent twenty 
years in the service. In consideration of his services, 
he was made a knight of the iron crown. His adhe- 
rence to Bonaparte, when the glory of the conqueror 
was departing, was now remembered against him, and 
in his application to the Papal court for some military 
appointment, he met with perpetual vexation and 
delay. Hence he had abundant leisure, and as he was 
straitened and friendless, he very naturally attached 
himself to us, who showed a regard for him, and 
took pleasure in his company. He was well acquaint- 
ed with Rome, and acted as our guide wherever we 
went, made our daily arrangements, which were per- 
plexing to him, and would have been intolerably 
troublesome to ourselves, and dispensed the presents 
at galleries and all other places. On a few occasions 
he entered into sharp disputes for us, and once even 
went to the magistrate. We can hardly estimate the 
value of his obliging offices, but the recollection of 
them will be connected with his pleasant qualities as 
a companion, with his honest warmth, his unaffected 
simplicity, his goodness of heart, and genuine worth j 
and, when we think of Rome, we shall always think 
of him with whom we entered as a stranger, and 
whom we left as a friend. 



At the gate of the city we passed the little lad 
whom the wifurin had been so importunate to make 
my travelling companion, and who turned out to be 
a pursy and full grown man. But we had not pro- 
ceeded far, when a person stepping up with a familiar 
air took his seat with the driver. The latter turning 
around to me, said, " Sir, this is my muster, who is 
only going as far as Monterosi." The fellow's obsti- 
nacy and cupidity vexed me for I was persuaded that 
it was a mere artifice. I hesitated a moment, and then 
took my resolution. " You agreed to carry me alone. 
You have broken the contract, and 1 will return to 
Rome to have you punished." No sooner had I left 
the carriage, than a violent altercation took place 
between the master and man. The storm raged furi- 
ously for a few minutes, when suddenly ceasing, I 
heard the driver crying after me to come back. I 
then returned to the cabriolet, but the intruder, at the 
Same time, took his seat again. A still fiercer dispute 
ensued, for no one out of Italy can conceive how far 
the strife of tongues may be carried here without a 
blow. Rut the servant at length got the better of his 
master, and dislodged him. With a softened though 
&ngry manner still, the wayfaring man began to 
abuse me for my incivility. " My friend," I replied, 
" if there be any fault, it falls upon the driver. 1 hired 
the carriage for myself. 1 choose to travel alone, and 
pay extravagantly for the pleasure." 


This decision in the outset I knew would save me 
trouble in the sequel. It had been the means though 
of keeping us some time on the road, and in a part 
of the journey where delay was most to be dreaded. 
We were now in the open Campagna,at three o'clock 
in the afternoon, and nearly thirty miles from the 
place where we proposed to spend the night. I 
found also that the horse was lame, and completely 
jaded, by a long journey from Bologna. But, hap- 
pily, the master was not a merciful man, and he 
pressed on with all possible speed. 

The progress of vegetation had made a great 
change in the appearance of this part of the Cam- 
pagna since we saw it in March. At present richer 
fields of grain, and a deeper verdure, gave it an air of 
cheerfulness amid the general desertion. 

We met but few persons on the road, which was 
indeed comfortable, for in such a wide solitude, every 
group is eyed with suspicion, and relief is hardly to 
be looked for in danger. Night overtook us in this 
region of robbery and crime, where there are few 
without uneasiness even in the day time. 

I left Monterosi at an early hour in the morning, 
and in a short time the sun rose gloriously, bur- 
nishing the distant mountains, and giving a beau- 
tiful effect to the towers and ivy mantled walls of 

About an Italian post from Nepi, mount Soracte, 
with several pointed summits, one of which is cap- 
ped by a monastery, rises solitarily out of the neigh- 
bouring plain. 

By the natural situation of Civita Castellana, so 


capable of a strong defence, it is thought, by some, 
to have been the ancient Veii. In leaving the town 
we come to the deep ravine, through which the 
small river Ricano forces a passage in its way to the 

As we descended the hill near Borghetto, which is 
itself only noticed for its pleasant situation, on the 
brow of a small eminence, and for a lofty and ruin- 
ous tower, overlooking the rest of the town, there was 
a more extensive view of the plain and the mean- 
derings of the Tiber. The hills on our left, and the 
Sabine mountains on the right, darkened with woods 
and forests, formed a fine contrast with the bright 
gleaming of the Appenines. 

In leaving the Sabina, to enter into Umbria, we 
pass over a beautiful bridge, built by Augustus, but 
repaired by Sixtus V called the Ponte Felice. It 
consists of four arches, the foundations of which are 
of stone, and the rest of brick. The road winds up 
the hili, on which Otricoli stands in an easy ascent. 
The mixture of wildness and cultivation in the coun- 
try through which it runs, is not always agreeable, 
though in the depths of the valleys it sometimes pre- 
sented points quite romantic. 

Near Narni we rode through a defile in the moun- 
tains, walled on both sides with rocks of grotesque 
forms, the savage aspect of which was relieved by 
tufts of brushwood and a thick growth of evergreens 
springing out of the clefts and fissures. Presently 
we saw the Nera rolling through it, and escaping, 
by a bold gap, to the south-west. The road is on 
the very border of a precipice several hundred feet 


in height. A few cottages are seen in the recesses 

of the mountains, and a hamlet on the edge of the 


I left the carriage at Narni, which was the birth- 
place of Nerva, to go to an ancient marble bridge, 

a quarter of a mile below the town. This stately 

ruin exhibits the taste, the solidity, and boldness 

which mark all the works of the Augustan age. 

There were originally four arches. The broken 

piers and partial curves of three are still to be seen, 

and the other is entire. 

The Nera, flowing tumultuously over its rocky 
channel, passes by these ruins into the rude glen 
which we had just left. A convent, situated on a 
height, on the right bank of the river, appears through 
the remaining arch. And, in turning round towards 
the east, the modern bridge of Narni, a few paces 
above the ancient, the cottages on the banks of the 
river, and the country seats and villages scattered 
through the fertile vale extending to Terni, present 
a sweet and charming prospect of rural beauty. 

On reaching Terni I went out to procure a con- 
veyance to the falls, but was sorry to find that it was 
the Post-Master's exclusive privilege to let carriages 
for this purpose, as it was equivalent to an assurance 
that I should be defrauded. Accordingly I had to 
pay three Roman crowns for an excursion of about 
as many miles. 

The road was at the foot of the hills, on one side 
of a narrow valley, watered by the Nera. This rich 
bottom, which is cultivated like a garden, has, at all 
times, been celebrated for its fertility. Pliny says 


" that the meadows were mowed here four times a 

About a mile and a half below the falls I left the 
carriage, and proceeded to them on foot through an 
orange grove and a thick wood at the foot of the 
cliffs. At every turn we had glimpses of the Nera, 
which is here a continued rapid. The cascade is 
formed by the small river Velino, which precipitates 
itself, in one mass, into the deep gulf below. The 
height of the fall is three hundred feet, but the body 
of water is too inconsiderable to correspond with the 
grandeur of this mountain pass. 

From the edge of a precipice a little further down, 
there is a united view of the fall and the several suc- 
cessive plunges which it afterwards makes from rock 
to rock, in conjunction with the Nera. The rapidity 
of their course at this point, the writhing and agita- 
tion of the waters below, and the noise, like distant 
thunder, the profound depth of the valley, the shag- 
ged face of the perpendicular rocks directly opposite, 
and the changing forms of the mountains through the 
rest of the passage, made the prospect here as sublime 
as it was beautiful. The sun, sinking behind us, 
threw a mild lustre over the harsh features of the 
spot, and gave it an air of peacefulness amidst all 
this tumult and confusion. 

The next day we left Terni at a very early hour in 
the morning, and soon began to ascend the Appe- 
nines. While winding through the deep denies, it 
was interesting to watch the first fleecy clouds of the 
dawning, till the sun rose above the mountains, and 
chased away the darkness of the valley. With the 


bracing air of the prime, and the lively singing of the 
birds, my spirits were as light and buoyant as nature 
was joyful. Presently we came to mount Somma^ 
which is the most elevated point in this part of the 
Appenines. It is nearly four thousand feet above the 
sea. The sides of these hills are covered with the 
olive, the laurel, and a profusion of hardy trees and 
plants, which the blasts of winter never blight. Oc- 
casional marks of cultivation, and farm-houses, and 
villages, on the heights, are perceived amidst the 
general wildness of nature, and in emerging from 
this pass the view becomes enchanting. 

The most conspicuous objects in Spoleto are an 
aqueduct, consisting of nine Gothic arches, which rise 
two hundred feet above the stream, and the castle, 
occupying a strong position on an eminence, at a 
small distance from it. A convent of the Capuchins, 
two or three churches, and a number of sprightly her- 
mitages, are situated on the steeply shelving sides of 
the mountain at the mouth of the gorge. The com- 
bination of so many artificial objects, with the charms 
and glory of the natural scenery, render Spoleto the 
first in beauty, as it is the first in rank, among the 
cities of Umbria. 

Spoleto is distinguished in history by the success- 
ful defence which it made against Hannibal, who be- 
sieged it after his victory over the Romans, at the 
lake of Thrasymene. It still retains some evidences 
of the consequence to which it was raised under 
Theodoric, though most of these were lost in the de- 
struction of the city by Totila. In the church of the 
Crucifix we see the remains of the temple of Con* 


cord. Two arches of an ancient bridge, at the north- 
east entrance of the city, are only remarkable for 
their solidity. 

In continuing our journey we passed through a 
pleasant and populous plain. Umbria is said, in ge- 
neral, to be fertile and well cultivated, but in this 
part the scarlet wild flowers, which were growing 
thickly among the wheat, were an indication of care- 
less farming, and the soil appeared to be sandy and 

The common people here pull off their hats when 
they pass a church, or even the small oratories of the 
Virgin. This, however, is merely an extravagant 
expression of a very proper sentiment. If Roman 
Catholics have too much respect for the temple of 
God, have not Protestants too little? 

Near Le Vene the small clear stream of the Cli- 
tumnus, which holds its course on one side of the 
road, presents a refreshing sight in a sultry day. The 
white oxen, which served as victims for sacrifice 
and for triumphal processions, were taken from the 
banks of this river. 

" Hinc albi, Clitumne, greges et maxima taurtis 

" Victima ssepe tuo perfusi flumine sacro, 

" Romanos ad templa Deum duxere triumphos." 

The little temple of Clitumnus, near the post- 
house of Le Vene, has a neat portico of the Corin- 
thian order. It was originally dedicated to the sa- 
cred stream, but is now converted into a Christian 

At Foligno my driver furnished me with a fresh 
horse and another cabriolet, and parted from me with 


great good nature and many kind wishes. I had 
thwarted the grasping designs of this man so effectu- 
ally, by keeping out all wayfaring passengers, as in 
most other countries would have led to a sulky and 
disobliging behaviour through the rest of the journey. 
But it never occasioned a moment's petulance in him. 
He knew that he was in the wrong, and therefore 
yielded to this determination on my part with easy 
submission. This trifling circumstance is noticed 
because it illustrates the character of the common 
people in Italy. They are shrewd and calculating, 
and exercise a surprising control over their feelings 
whenever that control is necessary to their interests. 
It is customary to add some small gratuity to the 
price of carriage hire, whatever it may be, and as 
their avarice is keen and insatiable, they cultivate 
your good will with great assiduity, and make a most 
officious show of service in order to augment their 
recompence. But with all their faults they are not 
without kind feelings. 

From Foligno we began to ascend the mountains 
again. In the steeper parts of the road it was neces- 
sary to relieve our horse by the help of oxen, and, in 
one place, a cow was put before the cabriolet. They 
are driven with bridles, and the bits are in their 

In the evening we stopped at the small hamlet of 
Colfiorito, on one of the highest points of the Appe- 
nines. The appearance of the inn was very unpro- 
mising, but the fare was good, the chamber neat 7 
and in the unusual attention and kindness of the 
people of the house, I almost forgot that I was re- 



ceiving the civility of publicans. So much comforf, 
in a place so remote and lonely, is felt as a blessing. 
On shutting the door of my chamber I fell into ru* 
minations upon home, the immense space which se« 
parated me from those who were dearest to me, and 
the mercies of God, who had brought me so far in 
safety. In this wild solitude I seemed more sensible 
of the Lord's protecting care, and felt more confi- 
dence in it. I laid me down in peace, and took my 
rest, knowing the hand that sustained me. 

From f olfiorito we descended the mountains again 
by a bad road. Through all the windings we fol- 
lowed the rapid and noisy stream, which is the source 
of the ChientL Supplied by many tributary nils the 
river grew wider and deeper every moment. The 
bank on which we rode was frequently high and 
Steep, and the whole valley so contracted and barren 
that, for many miles, the labours of the husbandman 
Were scarcely to be seen. We passed the ruins of a 
Gothic fortress, at Serravalle, and several wretched 
and dirty villages, in which there was an appearance 
of great poverty. My driver told me that this wild 
pass wa& a dangerous part of the journey. It is not 
surprising that crimes should be so common where 
distress is so a! ject and pressing. A little below 
Valcimara the valley expands, and the mountains 
on each side are covered with noble oaks. Presently 
we emerged into the open country, and soon crossed 
over the battle ground where the English and Aus- 
trians defeated Murat in 1814 The former occu- 
pied a fine position to the left, on a smooth and res^i- 
lar height. The-tatter was on the level below. He 


fought desperately, and even the pusillanimous Nea- 
politans did him good service; but the enemy turn- 
ing his right wing, his army was thrown into confu- 
sion, and the route became universal. This move- 
ment took place near a small castle about two miles 
beyond Tolentino. 

From this town to Macerata there is an extensive 
plain, diversified by undulating hills, and showing, m 
the luxuriant fields of wheat, corn, and flax, and beau- 
tiful vineyards, a rich soil, and a laborious cultivation. 
The fine country-seats, and the numerous farm-houses 
and out-houses, which are built of brick, are plain 
indications of the wealth of many, and the comfort 
of all. Orchards of different kinds, laid out with great 
regularity, and neat hedges enclosing the fields, dis- 
tinguish the scenery of this part of Italy from every 
other. An improvement also in the character of the 
peasantry may be discovered in the slight civility of 
a passing salutation to strangers. 1 noticed a singular 
ornament in the dress of the country girls who seemed 
to have on their holiday attire. Two or three gilded 
balls, of the size of a pullet's egg, suspended from 
each other, supplied the place of ear rings. 

However little a person may be interested in agri- 
cultural pursuits and improvements, his attention can 
scarcely fail to be drawn by the fine breed of cattle 
here. Some of the cows are perfectly white, and of 
uncommon size and beauty. 

Towards evening the walis,and domes, and steeples 
of Macerata, rose up before us with an imposing ap- 
pearance. The interiour is not at variance with this 
outward show. The houses are well built, and ge- 


nerally of brick and stone. The churches are neat, 
and two or three of the palaces, though without state- 
liness and grandeur, increase in some degree the 
consequence of the city. An unusual air of cleanli- 
ness prevailed in every part. The increasing beauty 
of the women, and the change in their complexions, 
which is perceived immediately after crossing the 
Appenines, now became still more striking. 

When my bill was handed to me in the morning, I 
found that kind of random charge so common in this 
country, which goes as high as it is supposed the 
prodigality or ignorance of strangers will possibly 
allow. There seems to be nothing fixed by usage, 
nor any security from conscience, but in most places 
a settled design to get all they can from those whom 
they may never have an opportunity of pillaging again. 
The settlement of almost every account is a dispute, 
unless there have been an explicit agreement before- 

This morning I came in sight of the Adriatic, and 
experienced that lively excitement which is perhaps 
common" to most persons in beholding, for the first 
time, a new country or another sea. 

The traveller is amused by a novel kind of impor- 
tunity in the beggars of this quarter. They run over 
the names of all the saints in the calendar, in the 
hope that a regard for some canonized favourite will 
excite a compassion that distress might not awaken. 
There is something like it in one or two other 
places, though no where else such an overflowing 

The neatness in the grounds and dwellings from 


Tolentino to Macerata, shows itself farther on with 
some addition of taste in the wicket fences, the sweet- 
briar hedges, the beautiful avenues and arbours that 
adorn the houses both of the farmers and gentry. 
The fig, the olive, and other fruit trees, are common 
on this road, but 1 did not remark in their orchards 
the apple, the peach, or any of the species to which 
we are accustomed. Indeed it is a rare thing in any 
part of Italy to meet with our fruit trees. 

After having passed Recanati pilgrims began to 
appear, who were either going to the Holy House of 
Loretto, or returning from this shrine. 


We got to the city, so hallowed by the Santa Casa, 
in the estimation of all the votaries of the Virgin, on 
the festival of Whitsun-Tuesday. I went immedi- 
ately to the cathedral. The chief attraction of this 
church is the wonderful casing of the Santa Casa. 
The paltry edifice of brick, which is venerated by the 
superstitious pilgrims as the house once inhabited by 
Mary and the Son of God, and rendered still more 
sacred by its miraculous transportation from Pales- 
tine to the Laurel Grove, in the neighbourhood of 
Recanati, has been the occasion of another structure, 
which is as much admired by the profane and doubt- 
ing, as the former is by the credulous and devout. 
The Holy House stands within the church, at the 


intersection of the nave and transept. It is enclosed 
in a building of the marble of Carrara, designed by 
Bramante, and executed by Contucci de Montesan- 
sovino. The form is an oblong square, of about 
forty-five feet in length, thirty in breadth, and forty 
in height. The architectural and sculptured orna- 
ments are among the most finished productions of 
human art. The basso relievos represent the true 
and fabulous history of the Virgin, in every leading 
and interesting circumstance. On the eastern part 
we see the different translations of the Holy House, 
hy the ministry of angels, the Samian and Cumsean 
sibyls, and the death of the Virgin. She is surround- 
ed by the apostles, whose feelings are expressed with 
such truth and effect as to make marble moving. 
The northern side is chiefly remarkable for the birth 
of the Virgin. The busy eagerness of the women, 
one of whom is washing the infant, the congratulat- 
ing countenances of some of the company, the father 
standing at the bed-side, and with uplifted hands pour- 
ing out his thanks to God, are ideas sufficiently obvi- 
ous for such a picture, and yet it is in the successful 
execution of these simple subjects that the skill of the 
artist is principally seen. The death of Mary was the 
joint work of Lamia, Raphael, and Sangallo; the 
birth of Sansovino, Raphael, and Bandinelli. The 
annunciation on the western side, and the adoration 
of the magi, by Lombardi, on the southern, together 
with some of the sibyls and prophets, are more strik- 
ing than other pieces, though all are masterly. The 
bronze gates, on which are traced the flagellation of 
our Saviour, his teaching in the temple, and agony 


in the garden, are of the same high order. I went 
round and round this superb and incomparable struc- 
ture oftener than the most devout among the pil- 
grims, and gazed at it with an admiration not felt 
perhaps by those who worshipped the relick which it 

It was fortunate that the day I was at Loretto hap- 
pened to be a festival, as it gave me an opportunity 
of hearing one of the best choirs in Italy. During 
the celebration of the mass, and at intervals in the 
service, the music was enrapturing. The H alleluia 
especially, which was taken up in succession by the 
different voices, was sung with such astonishing va- 
riety, and so sweetly and divinely, that I could almost 
fancy I heard the angels of heaven responding to each 
other in praise of God. But at the elevation of the 
host, the bishop, the priests, and people, prostrated 
themselves in silence, and then such tender, and 
touching, and celestial strains stole upon the ear, 
that it seemed like a kind of impious violence to my 
feelings not to bow the knee when my heart was 
borne down by the overpowering sense of awe and 
devotion. There is nothing on earth so impressive. 

In the afternoon I employed myself, before the 
commencement of the service, in scrutinizing still 
more critically the delicate and storied decorations 
of the Santa Casa, and in examining the various 
groups on the three bronze gates of the cathedral ? 
exhibiting the most memorable events of scripture. 
Many of these are admirable, both in the design and 
execution, but particularly the banishment of our 
first parents from Paradise. Eve, with full and flow- 


ing hair, and a poetical beauty, has her hands cross- 
ed oyer her bosom, and a look of utter despair. 
Adam's are clasped in agony, and both are turning 
their eyes towards the garden, while the angel, with 
uplifted sword and outstretched arm, is urging on 
their lingering steps. 

In one of the bronze doors of the Holy House, the 
figure of our Saviour, and the whole of the face, are 
actually worn and almost obliterated by the kisses 
and touches of the visitors; and in the circuit which 
they make around this miraculous dwelling, on their 
knees, the very marble is deeply furrowed. My at- 
tention was drawn to the circumstance by seeing se- 
veral engaged in this awkward act of superstition. 

The treasury, which was once enriched by the 
votive offerings of nobles and princes, has been de- 
spoiled of all that was most precious by him who 
had too little respect for true religion to shrink from 
sacrilege; and scarcely any thing remains that does 
not inspire less wonder than contempt. 

The music this afternoon was, for the most part, of 
a cheerfui and animated cast ; but, at a particular 
time, when one of the priests took the censer, and 
threw up incense in the faces of the rest, a few sung 
in the softest and most melting tones, and the organ 
accompanied them with an inexpressible effect. I 
am too little acquainted with the science of music to 
explain very accurately, or, perhaps, even intelligi- 
bly, the reasons of its superiour and unrivalled charms 
in Italy. The most obvious cause is the kind of 
singers employed, and their exclusive and devoted 
attention to this object from tfcieir childhood. They 

LOREtfO. tQ5 

have an amazing flexibility and compass of voice, so 
that they can pass from the lowest to the highest 
key without any effort, and fall again with such a 
dying sound, that the ear is almost in doubt whether it 
has caught the last. We remark no fetching of the 
breath, no harsh and inharmonious breaks, but all the 
notes melt into each other, and often, for many mi- 
nutes, there is not the slightest perceptible pause for 
respiration. This address in the management of the 
voice and apparent length of breath, were, to me, en- 
tirely incomprehensible. Their tones also are alto- 
gether peculiar, without the shrillness of the woman's, 
or the roughness of the man's, but partaking of the 
properties of both ; so penetrating, so full, and yet 
so smooth and melodious as to make them seem like 
something preternatural. 

By means of this music, the magnificence of their 
churches, the multitude of ecclesiastics, the richness 
and variety of their dresses, the pomp of some of 
their ceremonies, and the significance and impres- 
siveness of others, the frequent and almost constant 
performance of the public offices of religion, and the 
many artificial ties arising out of the genius of popery, 
which connect it with the common occupations and 
duties of life, the Roman Catholic religion must al- 
ways exercise a power over the senses and feelings, 
which the simple and unostentatious system of Pro- 
testants can never exert. 

In speaking afterwards of the pleasure I had re- 
ceived from my visit to the cathedral, a gentleman 
from Holland was highly offended at hearing me 
express a greater admiration of the precious casing 


266 Ajvcona, 

of the Santa Casa, which only showed the skill of 
man, than of the Holy House itself, which was s® 
signal a display of the power of God. This incre- 
dulity, which he had always remarked in the Eng- 
lish, surprised him, for where Omnipotence was 
concerned he saw no difficulty in this miraculous 
transportation. I replied, " that as to the possibility 
of it, I saw none myself, but it seemed unreason- 
able to believe in such an useless exertion of Divine 

One of the principal streets in Loretto is nearly 
composed of shops, whose chief trade is in crucifixes, 
beads, and other devotional trinkets. I bought some 
rosaries, accompanied by a certificate of their having 
been blessed by the curate ! 

Beyond Loretto, the country is more varied and 
beautiful than the level district through which we 
had just been travelling. The marquisate of Ancona 
abounds in the finest wheat. It is much celebrated 
for the exuberance of the soil, though the best crops 
would not be considered among us as proofs of ex- 
traordinary fertility. The usual product, even in 
favourable seasons, is not more than twenty bushels 
an acre. 


We entered Ancona by a high and massive gats 
built of large bbcks of stone. This city was founded 
by the Syracusans four hundred years before the 

ANCONA. 267 

Christian sera. It soon became a Roman colony, and 
Trajan, by constructing a solid and extensive mole, 
increased its commercial importance. The trium- 
phal arch raised here to his honour by the gratitude 
of the people is still standing. It would seem as if 
the dashing of the sea, to which it is exposed, had 
saved it from the soil and tarnish that mark most 
other ancient works. No part of it is materially in- 
jured or defaced, and the inscription is quite legible. 
One of the blocks of marble at the base is twelve 
feet long, five feet high, and three thick, and the 
greater part of the rest are, strictly speaking, of nearly 
the same size. But the magnitude of the work is 
not proportioned to the solidity of the materials, and 
& is rather elegant than majestic. 

Ancona continued to flourish till the irruption of 
the barbarians into Italy. The trade of this city 
declined, and never revived again till Clement the 
Twelfth, making it a free port, and conferring upon 
it peculiar privileges, induced many foreign mer- 
chants to settle there. An arch was also raised upon 
the mole in commemoration of his important ser- 
vices. Additions were made to the harbour in the 
next pontificate, and other improvements contem- 
plated and actually begun by the French, have since 
been suspended by the overthrow of their power. 
The trade of Ancona has greatly increased in later 
times, though, judging from the small number of 
vessels in port, I should have supposed it inconsi- 

From the bay there is an agreeable and united 
view of the mole, the triumphal arch, the light-house ? 

268 ANCONA. 

the substantial and spacious Lazaretto, the city, re- 
clining on the side of a steep hill, with the fortress 
and cathedral above it, and the Cumerean promon- 
tory running out beyond it. But the lofty brick build- 
ings which at a distance appear so advantageously 
as they rise above each other, are less striking when 
we wander through the narrow and irregular streets. 
The exchange is a large and convenient hall. There 
is an elegant simplicity in the design and embellish- 
ments of the church of St. Dominica. In examining 
the pi -tures, I was much struck with the resemblance 
of an ascension here to one of the first pieces in our 
own country.* 

While I was making some inquiries of a clergyman 
about certain pictures in the cathedral, he invited 
me to accompany him to his house, to see some curi- 
ous work of his own, and a painting of Guido. There 
were a number of fanciful representations of different 
objects in shells, on a large scale, and arranged with 
great beauty and taste, which had cost him the 
patient labour of many years. The most extraor- 
dinary was a very exact imitation of the triumphal 
arch of Trajan. 

Several of the pictures in this private cabinet were 
valuable, but that of Guido was a master-piece. It 
was simply a half figure of the Virgin Mary, but with 
such grace in the attitude, such modesty in the down- 
cast eyes, such gentleness and sweetness in the coun- 
tenance, such a soft, and meek, and winning air, as 

* The Oescent of the Holy Ghost, a beautiful work of some unknown 
Italian artist, which has been long in the possession of the late Col. Schuy- 
ler, of Belleville, New-Jersey. 

ANGONA. 269 

the imagination looks for in the most highly favoured 
among women. The simplicity in the dress entirely 
suited the character of the face, and a wonderful de- 
licacy in the tints, and a charming gradation of light 
and shade, seemed to produce an universal harmony. 
The slight tinge, or cloud of glory, around her head, 
gave to so much human loveliness a kind of divine 
perfection, I am not an enthusiast in paintings, but 
rather disposed to censure than admire. On this 
occasion it was the art of the master, exerting its 
power over the untutored feelings of nature. The 
name of the polite and worthy ecclesiastic to whom 
I was indebted for so much pleasure, is Cyriaco Ca- 
poieoni, patricio Anconitano. 

My passport had only been demanded once since 
I left Rome. From Ancona to Sinigaglia, I was 
stopped five times to have my trunk examined. 

There is always more vigilance on the sea-coast and 
frontiers than in the heart of the country; but in most 
cases where strangers are detained, it is not so much 
to secure the revenue of the state as to satisfy the cu- 
pidity of the officers and guards. Sometimes I sub- 
mitted to the imposition, at others I lost all patience. 
A trifle satisfies them, but when demanded so often it 
becomes a considerable item. And, besides, it is these 
very trifles which defeat all calculation, and swell the 
expence of a journey to an unaccountable amount. 
A trifle to every retainer of the custom-house ; a trifle 
to every magistrate who signs your passport, and to 
every gendarme who returns it; a trifle to every 
driver of a carriage, whether master or hireling; a 
trifle to the waiter, the chamber-maid, the shoe-black, 

270 ANCONA. 

and porter at every inn ; a trifle to the cicerone f and a 
thousand occasional guides ; a trifle to the wretched 
mendicants who are perpetually besieging you ; a 
trifle to every porter who opens the gate of a palace, 
and to every one who conducts you through it ; a 
trifle at every private garden, at every cabinet of 
curiosities, at every gallery of paintings and statues ; 
a trifle to every sexton who conducts you to the hid- 
den recesses of the sanctuary, or mounts with you to 
the pinnacle, to show you the glory of the world around 
it ; these are the things which wear away the gold of 
a traveller, as a stone is worn by the continual drop- 
ping of water. While 1 was in company, and there 
was a division of this minute kind of expense, it 
seemed of little moment, but when alone, it fre- 
quently amounted to almost as much as the living 

The last place where I was stopped this evening 
was just at the entrance of Sinigaglia. Some of the 
bystanders seemed to feel for the perplexities of a 
stranger, and one of them, with an officious air of 
sympathy* and service, followed me to the inn. For 
this touch, or rather show, of kindness, he was em- 
boldened to ask for some reward. " And what have 
you done," said I, " my friend?" " O, Sir — Sir, 
nothing." But these fellows understand human na- 
ture, and always profit by their cunning. 

Sinigaglia, like most of the towns on this part of 
the Adriatic, is built of brick. The streets are wide 
and straight, and neatness prevails throughout the 
city. Some of the houses are almost new, presenting 
an appearance of prosperity and improvement, which 

ANCONA. 272 

is very unusual in Italy. In the cathedral there is a 
beautiful annunciation of the Virgin. It is the work 
of a young and native artist still living at Sinigaglia ? 
by the name of Baviera. Strolling on the quay., to- 
wards evening, I stopped a gentleman to make some 
inquiry, who courteously entered into conversati@n 
with me, and invited me to extend my walk. We 
continued our promenade together, talking on vari- 
ous subjects, and when 1 was about to leave him, 
he parted from an ecclesiastic who was with him, 
and accompanied me to my lodgings. On the way 
I happened to mention bow much I had been grati- 
fied by a picture in the cathedral, which they had told 
me was the production of a youthful genius belong- 
ing to Sinigaglia. It was a singular accident that the 
person whom 1 was addressing was the painter him- 
self. He mentioned it with great modesty, disclaim- 
ing all praise. The kindness of a powerful patron, 
who had procured for him a military appointment 
that he could not refuse, had for some time with- 
drawn him from a profession for which his studies at 
Rome, and the bent of his inclination, had peculiarly 
fitted him. He had so long neglected the cultivation 
of this talent as to make him very moderate in his 
pretensions; but he spoke highly of a brother, who 
far surpassed him. A stranger is often delighted 
with these incidental acquaintances in his rambles 
in this country, which, from the good nature and ur- 
banity of the Italians, are more common than in any 

On the way to Fano we crossed the Metaurus, a 
river insignificant in itself, but which will ever be re- 

272 AInCONA. 

garded with interest from the defeat of Asdrubal, 
that took place on its borders. 

The ruins of a triumphal arch in this city, raised to 
the honour of Augustus; the bronze statue of Fortune, 
at one of the fountains; and the cathedral, were 
viewed with the indifference which one often feels in 
the smaller towns of Italy, after having seen all the 
curiosities and monuments of Rome. 

Pesaro contains very little for the gratification of 
the traveller, however diligent he may be in his in- 
quiries. The barber of the town, who acted as my 
cicerone, took me around on many a fruitless errand, 
though he succeeded perfectly well in amusing me 
by his communicative temper and perpetual volubi- 
lity. He had served in the French army, and showed 
the quickness and intelligence which I have always 
remarked in those who have been brought up in that 
school. . 

The environs of Pesaro are well wooded in some 
parts, and finely cultivated in others. It is a land 
of hills and valleys, of oil and wine. Figs grow here 
in great abundance, and are as much esteemed as 
the olives. The vines, hanging from tree to tree in 
festoons, or disposed in fantastical forms, delight the 
eye, though, from this circumstance, the fruit does 
not gather the strength and richness of the soil. In 
France, wherever the wine has any reputation, the 
stock is kept close to the ground, so as to give the 
chief nourishment to the grape. Here, for the first 
time, 1 saw the tall and slender Lombardy poplar 
like our own. 

Before reaching Cattolica we passed a fine castle, 

romantically situated on a woody eminence. The 
great tower and turretted walls are well preserved, 
and the place has the appearance of being inha- 

We were now riding in a fertile and pleasant vat- 
ley, and, as it opened upon us, we caught, through 
the bright mist of an approaching sun-shower, a 
view of the sea and distant mountains. After the 
rain, two dazzling rainbows came out, which, like 
the angel of the Apocalypse, setting one foot on the 
land and the other on the sea, produced a singular 
and sublime effect, 

Cattolica is a small and neat village, supposed to 
have taken its name from the orthodox bishops hav- 
ing withdrawn there, when they separated from the 
Arians in the great council of Rimini. 

A bank is frequently seen along the Adriatic about 
a quarter of a mile from the shore. May it not have 
been the former border of this sea ? At Ravenna we 
know that the waters have receded three or four 

While the prospects continued so charming on 
land, the sea was enlivened by a multitude of 
fishing-boats. The sun set in a blaze of glory, em- 
purpling the tops of the mountains, and shedding a 
mild light over the plains below. At an early hour 
in the evening we entered Rimini. 

The whole of the luxuriant country through which 
we had been travelling for two or three days, very 
recently suffered so much by famine that many died 
in it of hunger. 




The next morning I took a horse, with a guide, and 
set out on a visit to the republic of St. Marino. This 
little state has preserved its freedom and indepen- 
dence amidst all the revolutions of Europe. The 
rough and miry road which leads to it was still more 
disagreeable at this time, as they were just engaged 
in repairing it, but the country which it traversed was 
pleasant for several miles. After having ascended 
to a considerable elevation above the sea, we came to 
the foot of the rock upon which San Marino stands. 
This rises almost perpendicularly several hundred 
feet higher. It is defended by a wall, an old castle, 
and two or three towers, though the sides are so steep 
as to make it altogether inaccessible on this quarter. 
They are half covered with brambles, and ivy over- 
runs the neglected castle. The road conducting to 
the city .winds gradually around the precipice to the 
north and west, presenting a dreary view of barren 
mountains in endless succession. The whole of the 
territory of this littte state, comprized in a narrow 
skirt around the base of the rock, is almost as wild 
and naked as the gray hills at a distance. It is not 
surprising that freedom should retain its boldness and 
energy where nature herself appears so stern. After 
we got into the city my guide spoke to a gentleman 
passing us. who immediately accosted me in a very 
polite and friendly manner. We conversed a few 
moments together, when, observing that he addressed 


me as an Englishman, 1 undeceived him. Upon 
discovering my country he expressed the most lively 
satisfaction, and his civility grew into kindness He 
rejoiced to meet an American, and seemed gratified 
to reciprocate the kindred feeling which had led me 
to St. Marino, by making the most flattering encomi- 
ums on the United States. He said that we were 
the happiest people in the world; that he esteemed 
us highly from the analogy between their political 
institutions and ours ; that he considered us already 
powerful, and likely to become so much more power- 
ful that he even looked to America for the emanci- 
pation of Europe. He obligingly offered to return 
and show me the city. There was not much in it 
that was curious, and if there had been more, the in- 
teresting conversation of this affable republican would 
have disposed me to slight it. As we were leaving 
one of the churches, in which there were some good 
pictures, he begged me to go to his house and take a 
dish of coffee with him. A certain cordiality in his 
manner, very easily distinguished from unmeaning 
compliment, would not permit me to 'refuse. An 
hour or two passed away in discourse on various sub- 
jects. He made a great many inquiries about the 
United States, and gave me some interesting details 
of their political economy; but they were so hasty 
and general, and communicated through a language 
which he spoke so imperfectly, that they are hardly 
worth repeating. 

Every head of a family has the privilege of voting 
for members of the legislative body. This body is 
called the council, and consists of sixty persons, who 


retain their offices only for six months. The execu- 
tive power rests in two supreme magistrates, whose 
authority is in ail respects the same, and in case of 
any difference between them, the council is the um- 
pire. The people meet occasionally in a body to 
consider the state of public affairs, and to see that 
their constitution and laws are not violated. 1 re- 
member nothing more that he said on this subject, 
except that President Adams's account of their go- 
vernment was very inaccurate; but in comparing it 
with his brief statements, there does not seem to be 
any material disagreement. 

He spoke of Bonaparte with partiality, who, in the 
overthrow of so many governments, professed to re- 
spect the liberties of this republic, and whose cle- 
mency they considered as a benefaction which ought 
to be acknowledged with gratitude. 

Two or three of his friends came in while I was 
sitting with him, to whom he respectfully presented 
me. They shared in his curiosity and feelings, and 
listened with equal attention to every thing relating 
to America. At length an English nobleman was 
ushered in with two ladies. Taking me by the hand, 
he introduced me to him as a gentleman from the 
United States; but what my host considered so strong 
a claim to cordiality and esteem, made no impression 
on his lordship. The cold and distant civility of an 
Englishman to a stranger, is not always laid aside 
when it is found that this stranger is an American. 
Before I took my leave of the former, he begged me 
to give him my name, and handed me his own in re- 
turn. It was simply and modestly written Antoine 

RIMINI. 277 

Honofrio, citizen of the republic of St. Marino. But I 
afterwards learned that he was one of the first officers, 
and indeed the principal man in the republic. The 
knowledge of this circumstance enhanced my sense 
of his extraordinary courtesy ; but the incident was 
particularly gratifying, as it furnished an additional 
proof of the high estimation in which our nation is 
held abroad. 

These accidental attentions were frequently re- 
ceived in the course of my travels, and no one can 
have an idea of the pleasure they give, who has never 
met with unexpected kindness in a strange land, 

Mr. Honofrio was very anxious to hear something 
of Mr. Huger, a member of Congress from South- 
Carolina, whom he, in common with several others, 
remembered with great repect. 


This city has become remarkable from two im- 
portant circumstances. Here Julius Caesar having 
passed the Rubicon, addressed his army before he 
destroyed the liberties of his country, (they even pre- 
tend to show the pedestal from which he made his 
harangue,) and here a famous council was held in 
the year 360, surpassing in numbers the council of 
Nice. Four hundred bishops were assembled from 
the east and the west. Only a small proportion were 
heretical, but by their address and intrigue they pre* 

278 RIMINI. 

vailed on the orthodox majority to sign an equivocal 
creed, more conformable to their views, which lead 
St. Jerome to remark, that on this occasion the world 
was surprised to find itself Arian. A little reflection, 
however, pointed out the subtilty, and it was scarcely 
embraced before it. was rejected. 

A small bridge of white marble, built under Augus- 
tus and Tiberius, at the point where the Flaminian 
and iEmilian roads united, is not less admired for its 
solidity than taste. A gate or triumphal arch of the 
same epoch, at the southern extremity of the city, but 
since deformed by Gothic additions, does not seem 
to have had originally an equal degree of merit. 

In the first post from Rimini there was an appear- 
ance of good farming and a productive soil, but after 
Cesenatico we passed over a sandy and deserted 
plain, covered only with a scanty herbage and scat- 
tered pines. Cervia is one of the neatest towns in 
Italy, with regular and well built houses, and wide 
and airy streets. 

The .shores of the Adriatic, from Ancona to Ra- 
venna, are flat and uninteresting when compared 
with the rugged and romantic coast of the Mediter- 
ranean. Here are no high and jutting promontories, 
no wild and broken recesses, no graceful bays or 
bolder gulfs, and this sea, with the tranquillity of a 
lake, does not look as if it could ever be raised into 
the stormy agitation of the great deep. 



In the dangers to which the later emperors were 
constantly exposed by the irruptions of the Goths, it 
was thought necessary to provide a retreat which 
might be inaccessible to their attacks. Ravenna was 
selected by Honorius, in the year 404, for this purpose. 
This city, founded by the Thessalians, was greatly 
enlarged in the time of Augustus. He constructed 
a capacious harbour at three miles distance from the 
old town, and established a grand maritime arsenal 
there. Multitudes were thus drawn to the place, and 
the city soon extended itself to the sea. Ravenna 
was surrounded by a deep morass, and connected 
with the land by a causeway, which, in time of dan- 
ger, could easily be destroyed. The houses were built 
on piles. They were intersected by canals instead of 
streets, and the only communication was by boats 
and bridges. The city was therefore impenetrable 
to the loose and predatory hordes of the barbarians, 
who were without the means of regular warfare which 
might enable them to approach it by land, and with- 
out ships to invade it by sea. From the great secu- 
rity of the place, it became the seat of the empire 
under the Gothic kings and exarchs, until the middle 
of the eighth century. 

The neighbourhood of Ravenna has undergone a 
great change. The Adriatic has receded four miles, 
the ancient port is obliterated, and the marshes have 
long since been reduced by cultivation, or ©vergrowra 


with pines.* The modern city is rather neat and 
handsome, but exhibits no remains of its former 
greatness except in the pillars, mosaics, and basso 
relievos of the churches, and the tomb of Theodoric, 
the Ostrogoth. 

This mausoleum is of a circular form, and cover- 
ed with a dome. Instead of a sepulchral chamber 
there is a chapel of thirty feet in diameter, and the 
ashes of the king were deposited in a vase of por- 
phyry, which was placed without on the summit of 
the dome. It now stands at the corner of a house in 
one of the principal streets. Notwithstanding some 
appearances of a barbarous taste, the monument is 
simple and beautiful. The solitary situation of it 
towards the ancient port, and the virtuous and glori- 
ous life of the person to whom it was raised, unhap- 
pily stained at the close by the murder of Boethius 
and Symmachus, give it a melancholy interest, which 
works of greater magnificence and purer style do not 
always inspire. 

The cathedral is a large and handsome edifice. 
Twenty-four pillars of cippoline and other marbles 
separate the nave from the side aisles; and many of 
alabaster, black basalt, verd antique, and granite, 
decorate the altar, doors, and portico. The dome of 
the chapel Aldobrandini is contemplated both with 
admiration and regret, for there time and humidity 
are injuring and distaining a fine fresco of Guido 
Reni. A superb picture, by the same, of Moses, 

* For a fuller description of this curious city, see Gibbon's Decline an4 
Pall of the Roman Empire, from which this account is substantially 


causing manna to be rained down from heaven, has 
not suffered in any degree. The churches of St. 
Francis, St John the Baptist, and Mary of the port, 
owe their chief beauty to the ancient and modern 
columns with which they are richly adorned. 

But the lovers of poetry will visit one monument 
in Ravenna with peculiar emotion. It is the tomb 
of the great and unfortunate Dante, persecuted and 
exiled while living by those who would have gloried 
in his ashes when dead. Bernard Bembo, the father 
of the celebrated cardinal, erected this simple me- 
morial to his genius, with an inscription expressive 
of the character of his works and the nature of his 

The tomb is a small square edifice, covered with 
stucco, and surmounted by a dome. The remains of 
the poet are deposited in a recess exposed to the 
street, though secured by an iron railing ; and imme- 
diately behind there is a small chapel, which is en- 
tered from an inner court. 


May 17th. I left Ravenna, and, in the afternoon, 
came to Faenza. Towards evening, hearing the 
noise of instruments and voices, I went out on the 
balcony to discover whence it came, for in this coun- 
try the airs of an itinerant singer are sometimes 



equal to those of celebrated performers in others! 
A crowd was collected, at a small distance from the 
hotel, around the musical, group, which consisted of 
two men with violins, and two young: women with 
guitars. The pieces they performed, like most of the 
Italian songs, were grave- and pensive. The instru- 
ments were in perfect unison with the voices, and 
the women sung the different parts with such versa* 
tility and effect as to produce a very strange illusion. 
For a long time I could not account for some fine 
tones, which seemed to corne from an invisible per- 
son, but by drawing nearer, and listening with closer 
attention,, I discovered the artifice. One of them, 
whose ordinary key was almost masculine, would 
pas3 into another with so easy a transition that it was 
difficult to perceive it. The piece suffered no inter- 
ruption, and though it was sung by two, there ap- 
peared to be a trio. The airs were occasionally in- 
termingled with a kind of dialogue or pastoral song. 
This was of a more gay and sprightly character, and 
was highly diverting to the dullest of the crowd. 

A black veil thrown over the heads of persons, 
who in other respects have not a fashionable mien, is 
a peculiarity in the costume of the women of this part 
of Italy, though a muslin handkerchief, used in the 
same way, is common in many places along the 

At Imola I saw, in the midst of a painted device 
oa a waggon, those sacred initials I. H. S. denoting 
the character and office of our Lord, which are only 
seen among us in the temples where his salvation is 


St. Pietro is one of the most crowded, active, and 
bustling places that I have seen since I left Naples. 
It appears to be a great grain market. From the quan- 
tity exposed for sale, the cattle collected in the pub- 
lic squares, and the multitude of country people in 
the city, I conjectured and found that they were hold- 
ing a fair here. 

Seeing a number of peasants around a man who was 
standing up on a caleche, and addressing them with 
great earnestness, I stopped a moment to learn the 
subject of his harangue. The vehemence of his man- 
ner led me to suppose that he was a mountebank. 
But I discovered that it was a quack vending his 
medicines, and descanting on their excellencies. 

My attention was drawn in another part of the city 
by a hymn posted up on one of the houses. It was 
written by Giovanni Borzatti, in proof of his singular 
devotion and gratitude to the Virgin Mary, for having 
delivered the town of Castel Bolognese from the ma- 
lignant infection named typhus. There was an ad- 
vertisement affixed to it, stating that a solemn festival 
would be held in the church of St. Francis, on the 7th 
and 8th of September, 1817, in honour of their great 

In the little oratories or niches dedicated to the 
Virgin, which contain her picture or image, there is 
generally a bouquet of flowers placed beneath. A 
passing genuflection and a hasty Ave Maria are 
constantly kept up by the never ending train of her 

Almost all the rivers on this side of the Appenines 
were nearly dried up. Few of them, at this time 5 


were more than fifty or a hundred feet in breadth, 
and the beds of the largest not above a furlong. 
They were generally shallow and turbid, and the 
banks were without boldness or shade. 


This city is situated in a beautiful plain, at the foot 
of the Appenines, on the small river Rheno. It car- 
ries back its origin to a period anterior even to the 
foundation of Rome. Small and insignificant in the 
time of the republic, and first noticed for its refine- 
ment about the commencement of the Christian sera, 
it only attained the meridian of its glory at the revi- 
val of letters. Here jurisprudence was regenerated. 
Here painting kept pace with the rapid progress of 
the art in other cities of Italy. And in every depart- 
ment of literature and science Bologna has eminently 
contributed to the improvement of the human mind. 
But the chief source of her present distinction is an 
active and flourishing commerce. 

Some of the principal streets are lined with por- 
ticos, forming sheltered and pleasant walks through- 
out their whole extent. The fronts of the houses are 
supported by round and hexagonal pillars of every 
order, which are occasionally of stone, but more ge- 
nerally of brick, covered with stucco. The conve- 
nience of these arcades, in the heats of summer or 


seasons of inclemency, must be perceived by every 
one, and they did not appear to me, to be a de- 

The outward appearance of the public palace, 
which stands in the grand market place, is heavy and 
gloomy, but within there is a long succession of mag- 
nificent apartments. A colossal statue of Gregory 
XI 11. is placed over the entrance. An inscription in 
front of the palace records the celebrated interview 
of Charles V. and Clement VII. which took place 
here in 1530, and put an end to the tedious and bloody 
wars that had so long desolated this unhappy country. 

In the middle of a large fountain in the centre of 
the square, Neptune, raised on high, and holding his 
trident, is surrounded by dolphins and sea nymphs. 
This work of John of Bologna, is admired for the 
anatomical correctness, the easy and commanding 
attitude, and the noble air and expression of the god 
of the ocean. 

The church of St. Petronius, in the same square 
where Charles V. was crowned king of Lombardy, 
and Cassini drew his meridian line, is more remark- 
able for magnitude than beauty. 

The churches of St. Salvatore, St. Paul, St. Bar- 
tholomew, and St. Catharine, are all enriched with 
the productions of eminent painters. 

In the church of the Dominicans our attention is 
almost entirely drawn to the chapel, which contains 
the ashes of the founder of their order. The altar is 
covered with beautiful basso relievos, by Savollini 
and Lombardi. Two small statues standing on it, 
one of St. Petronius, and the other an angel, holding 


a candle, are among the earliest efforts of Michael 
Angelo. The latter is all beauty, innocence, and 
grace. On the vault of this chapel there is a most 
captivating picture, with which Guido Reni was 
more or less occupied for several years. It is the ex- 
hibition of Paradise. Our Saviour is sitting on one 
side, the Virgin Mary on the other, and St. Dominick, 
in an humbler station, between them. They are 
surrounded with brightness and glory, while the Holy 
Ghost, in a subdued and purer light, is seen in the 
height of heaven above. The circuit beneath is 
filled with angels and blessed spirits, playing on va- 
rious instruments of music, and harping with their 
harps that new song before the throne of God and the 
Lamb. The execution is as happy as the subject is 
difficult; and the contemplation of it awakens a 
lively and rapturous feeling, which adds greatly to the 
melancholy interest experienced a moment after in 
beholding, on the opposite side, the tomb of the man 
to whom we are indebted for so much pleasure. 

The two square brick towers of Asinelli and Gar- 
isenda, are conspicuous objects in Bologna ; one on 
account of its extraordinary height, giving place only 
to the dome of St. Peter's; and the other on account 
of an obliquity from the perpendicular line of more 
than eight feet. 

But we view these watch-towers, the monuments 
of domestic contention and jealousy, with less plea- 
sure than the house of the three Carracci in the strada 
Majora, the peaeeful abode of genius, and the scene 
of a generous emulation and strife to adorn and bless 


At the Academy of Fine Arts, amidst a large collec- 
tion of paintings, I was particularly pleased with the 
Virgin beatified, by Guercino; the Transfiguration, by 
Louis Carracci; the Crucifixion, and the Massacre of 
the Innocents, by Guido Reni; and the Martyrdom 
of St, Agnes, by Domenichino. 

In another piece of the latter, showing the perse- 
cution of the Catholics by the Albigenses, we see the 
catastrophe of a battle, to which religious zeal has 
given a deeper shade of horror, the fierceness of furi- 
ous pursuers, the weakness, timidity, and anguish of 
the flying, some stabbed and expiring, others tram- 
pled under foot, and a few praying earnestly to hea- 
ven to put a stop to the vengeance of their enemies, 
or to give them courage to meet it. 

Every one must be shocked by an impious attempt 
of Guercino, to make a likeness of him whom we are 
forbidden to represent by the image of any thing in 
heaven or earth. 

In the picture of St. Cecilia, with her female train, 
playing on a harp and looking up with a kind of serene 
and celestial ecstacy, Raphael is seen in the animat- 
ing glow of his colouring, and in all the felicity of 
his grouping and expression. 

I made only a single visit to the university, which, 
on account of the impatience of the person in atten- 
dance, as 1 had called at an hour when it is not usu- 
ally exhibited, was very hasty and unsatisfactory. I 
passed through the library, which contains two hun- 
dred thousand volumes, the cabinet of natural his- 
tory, the galleries of paintings, antiques, and statues., 
the anatomical hall, the chambers filled with mecha- 


nical and astronomical apparatus, and the apartment 
in which the Institute hold their sittings. A kind 
of perpetual motion was shown to me here, which 
will last for many years; but my examination was so 
hurried, that I had no time for making accurate ob- 
servations on this or any thing else. In the day of 
its greatest reputation there were ten thousand stu- 
dents in this University. There are now only a 

Many of the private palaces abound with paint- 

The gallery of Mariskalki is the most celebrated. 
Here, a copy by. Daberri, of Leonardo da Vinci's la 
Bella Feronia, the mistress of Francis I. surpasses 
almost any thing that is seen among mortals, and 
perhaps is only a copy of that beauty which exists 
no where but in the imagination. In the same cham- 
ber there is a most noble and spirited portrait of a 
senator of Venice by Titian. The repentance of St. 
Peter, by Guido, is ranked among'the best of his per- 
formances. It is a fine, bold, and expressive coun- 
tenance, stamped with deep feeling, though not ex- 
actly with bitter and agonizing grief. 

In a large piece of Tilborch, the interiour of a farm 
house is laid open, in which a great number of figures 
are seen, some eating at a table, here a knot drinking, 
others smoking, these employed in the work of a 
kitchen; but the whole making one easy and animat- 
ed scene of rustic festivity, where there is a crowd 
without confusion, and the broadest merriment with- 
out extravagance and caricature. A philosopher 
wrapt in meditation, by Rembrandt, with a pen in 

bologiUa 289 

one hand, and his head resting on the other, is mark- 
ed with the strongest lines of thought. 

Two pictures of Legozzi exhibit the humiliating 
progress, in the bodies of a man and woman, of dust 
returning to dust. The latter is surrounded with her 
jewels, her perfumes, and all the trinkets of her vani- 
ty ; while her face is suffering corruption, her nose is 
eaten off, her eyes are falling out in a state of liquid 
putrefaction, and the devourers of the grave are 
crawling out of her mouth, and creeping over her 

The man is also amidst the emblems of his vices, 
and presenting a similar appearance. The degrada- 
tion of our poor nature, thus lying in dishonour, is 
shown with such inexpressible loathsomeness and 
deformity that we turn from it with a sickening hor- 
ror. And as if for the purpose of relieving us by 
more grateful and flattering views of our, species, a 
beautiful Venus, of Titian, is placed immediately 
above. These odious objects are not left exposed to 
view, but are concealed by folding doors. 

The most splendid painting in this cabinet, and 
one of the noblest triumphs of the art itself, is the 
Saviour of Correggio. He is seated on a cloud up- 
held by angels. There is a serenity, a majesty, and 
all sufficiency, suited to his state of exaltation at the 
right hand of God. He is covered with light as with, 
a garment, and the brightness of his glory is shed 
widely around him. The angels who minister unto 
him are of a celestial beauty. When this dazzling 
picture is shown, the windows are partially closed, 
and the room considerably darkened, to give a softer 


290 &0L0&NA. 

lustre to the tints, and even then its radiance is strong. 
Though the figure is too short and thick, yet the air, 
the expression, the colouring, the general effect, pro- 
duce but one sensation of wonder and transport iij 
every beholder. 

There are several fine paintings also in the palace 
of Zambeecari, and in the gallery of the prince of 
Arcolanij who recently married a daughter of Lu> 
eien Bonaparte. 

The country from Bologna is somewhat pleasant 
the first ten or twelve miles; but afterwards it is 
marshy, and, though naturally fertile, is in many 
places unimproved. The barns on this route are 
very singular. The roof, projecting on all sides 
beyond the walls of the building, forms a portico 
around it, designed probably for sheltering and fod- 
dering cattle. The roof being of tile, and the pillars 
white, they have at once a neat and substantial ap- 

From Malalbergo we passed through a rich district, 
abounding in fine vineyards and fields of heavy 
grain. The better sort of farm-houses are generally 
white, and extremely pretty ; and even those which 
are covered with mud, and thatched with straw or 
flags,, look snug and comfortable* 



On arriving here I went with letters to Mrs. Totti, 
from her husband, and met with such a cordial wel- 
come as to show with what kindness and pains he had 
prepared her to receive me. There was a double 
pleasure in this reflec tion of my friend's regard. The 
house was small, sparingly but neatly furnished, and 
the few relicks of better days, together with the man* 
tiers of the entertainer, made me feel more sensibly 
their poverty and decay. The front door, when I 
knocked, opened as it Were of its own accord. This 
was done by some contrivance communicating with 
the parlour above. In the evening an elegant colla- 
tion of coffee, fruits, ices, and other refreshments were 
brought in, of which I partook with mixed feelings of 
pleasure and regret. It was an expression of kindness 
and respect, that must have been very inconvenient 
to them, though, for this reason, it was infinitely more 
gratifying than the most sumptuous entertainments 
of the wealthy. 

The free turn which a gentleman in company 
gave to the conversation, would have been a matter 
of surprise to any one who was unacquainted with 
the principles and manners of the Italians. I observ- 
ed, that our domestic habits were peculiar in Ame- 
rica, that happiness was there sought in the bosom of 
our families, that instances of the contrary were 
scarcely known among us, and that the mere suspi- 
cion of unfaithfulness^ on the part of the lady, would 


exclude her from society. " Oquesta sran bella cosa!" 
exclaimed Mrs, Totti. " O what a lovely thing this 
is !" but with a manner which showed that it was a 
thing as strange as fair ; a state of purity of which, 
in the licensed corruption of this country, they had 
no conception. 

In the afternoon of this day I attended service at 
the church del Giesu. A sermon was preached by 
a clergyman with a stentorian voice. There was a 
corresponding violence in his gesticulation, which, 
though carried beyond our taste, was not, however, 
unnatural. An apostrophe to our Saviour should be 
excepted, addressed to his image, at the side of the 
pulpit, in which there was a vehemence and action 
not suitable to the gravity and reverence of prayer, 
nor simple enough for real and deep emotion. 

A celebrated writer, Madame de Stael, who has 
given one of the best descriptions of Italy, and whose 
reflections, though coloured with a slight hue of ro- 
mance, appear to be the result of a nice and acute 
observation, as well as of a refined and feeling mind, 
was very unfavourably impressed by the pulpit elo- 
quence of this country. She considered the earnest- 
ness of the preachers as a kind of artificial emotion, 
from the regular and uniform recurrence of the same 
tones and gestures; a systematic fury, such as is often 
seen in Italy, where the vivacity of their outward 
movements frequently indicates only a very superfi- 
cial feeling. The opinion of such a person makes 
me distrustful of mine. But this is a record of the 
impressions made on my own mind, which are pre- 
sented without presumption and without disguise. 


The pulpit in their churches is generally large and 
commodious, "Tand more like the desk in our own. 
The preacher's feet are not immoveable, but he 
shifts his position, passing from one end to the other, 
sometimes too precipitately, but in general easily and 
gracefully. His square black cap is taken off in in* 
vocation, but never to enforce his argument, as at 
Saintes. The tones appeared to me to have all the 
variety of animated conversation among the Italians, 
and the gestures, though sometimes too measured or 
too extravagant, were more commonly bold and im- 
pressive. In the most rapid and elevated flights the 
delivery was so distinct that nothing could be lost ; 
and when the preacher appeared to be exhausted by 
his exertions, he would sit down in the pulpit, and, 
leaning over the front of it, would address the people 
in a lowered tone, with the simplicity of a father talk- 
ing to his children. Then gradually growing warm, 
and his voice rising again, he would start up and 
break out into his former violence. This appears 
theatrical in description, but it often seemed to me 
exceedingly natural and striking, and was, no doubt, 
suited to the genius and habits of the people. At 
any rate, they always succeeded in securing a re- 
spectful and earnest attention. 

The streets of Ferrara are in general straight, fre- 
quently intersecting each other at right angles. They 
are occasionally wide, always neat and pleasant, 
without elegance. Instead of the activity of com- 
merce, and the gaiety and splendour of a court with 
which it was formerly enlivened, we now find no- 
thing in our walks to jostle or dazzle us, but are only 


sensible of the stillness and desertion of a declining 
and impoverished city. The house of Ariosto, in the 
street of the Benedictines, is designated by an in- 
scription on the front, written by himself. 

" Parva sed apta mihi, sed nulli obnoxia, sed non 
sordida, parta meo sed tamen cert domus" 

Here, after being fatigued with the servile atten- 
dance and capricious favour of a court, he passed 
his latter days in the sweet quiet of private life, and 
the enjoyment of literary leisure. The chamber in 
which he wrote the principal part of his works is 
pointed out by an inscription in marble on the wall. 

His remains were interred in the church of St. 
Benedict ; but they have since been removed to the 
public library, and a monument has been raised to 
his memory. They show the chair here in which 
Ariosto sat, a manuscript written with his own hand, 
a second by Tasso, the Pastor Fido of Guarini, and 
several others, beautifully illuminated by Cosme, at 
the time when the duke d'Este of Modena was lord 
of Ferrara. 

But trfere is nothing so interesting in this place as 
the cell in the hospital of St. Anna, where Tasso was 
confined. Stung with rage by the unkindness of 
Alphonso, his patron, he reviled the court with such 
an unbridled tongue, that he was treated as a mad- 
man. While surveying this dank and dusky dungeon, 
the thoughts involuntarily run upon his frantic rav- 
ings, his longings after freedom, his flattering hopes, 
his cutting disappointments, and all the anguish of a 
soul impatient for enlargement and ingenious in ag- 
gravating its torments. Our sympathy is quickened 


by secretly associating with the recollection of his 
misfortunes the pleasure we have received from the 
beautiful illusions of his genius, and the prison of 
Tasso seems like the prison of a friend. 

On leaving Ferrara, we crossed the river Po at 
the ponte di Lagoscuro, by a flying bridge. This is 
the only river in Italy which approaches the majestic 
streams of our own country. It appeared to me, at 
this point, to be about a quarter or a third of a mile 
in breadth. The waters were nearly on a level 
with the adjacent lands, which are secured from 
inundations by an embankment of ten or twelve feet 

In rambling through Rovigo, I observed several 
pieces of black cotton, painted with a death's head 
and thigh bones, hanging up in front of one of the 
churches. Beneath these emblems of mortality there 
was a request to those who passed by, to offer up 
their prayers for the souls of several persons just de- 

The young women of the lower class in this part 
of Italy dress with great taste, and put up their hair 
with so much grace, adorning it sometimes with a 
rose or other flowers, that they make even an ordi- 
nary degree of beauty attractive and striking. But 
they have, in fact, more than is to be found in the 
same walk of life in any other country, and it is 
generally accompanied with a retiring and modest 

From Rovigo we rode along the Adige. It is ap- 
parently six or eight feet above the country through 
which it flows. A high artificial bank pa each side 


is the only security against a general inundation. 
The river is lined with small mills placed on scows. 
The wheels are undershot, and the axle rests partly 
upon the scow and partly upon a boat lying at the 
side. The current is so rapid as to turn them with 
considerable velocity. 

In a short time we crossed the Adige. It is here 
about three hundred feet wide, the waters are muddy, 
and the borders more naked than the banks of the 
Po. The thick and heavy grain showed greater fer- 
tility, and the noble barns abundance and wealth. 
One of these, which was of brick or stone, and cover- 
ed with tile, was faced with an extensive portico, sup- 
ported by twenty large Dorick pillars. 

In the last stage of this day's journey it was plea- 
sant to catch a glimpse of the distant mountains, 
after the fatiguing uniformity of the plains of Lom- 
bardy. The trees were scattered so thickly over the 
fields, that it was difficult to conceive how the grain 
and grapes could ripen under their wide spreading 

About* half an hour before sunset we arrived at 
Monteselice. This town is beautifully situated at 
the foot of a mountain, on the top of which are the 
ruins of an old castle, and near the base five or six 
neat white oratories on the edge of a road leading to 
a convent. 



As soon as arrangements were made for the night, 
I hired a caleche and set off for Petrarch's villa, at 
Arqua. The vehicle being hard and uneasy, and the 
driver pressing on account of the lateness of the hour, 
I was quite as sensible to the roughness of the road 
as its beauty. It kept winding agreeably along the 
sides of the hills, leaving the valley to our left con- 
siderably below us. Arqua is near the extremity of 
this recess, and the house of Petrarch is in the out- 
skirts of the town. It is almost embosomed in hills, 
and wrapt in a solitude well suited to the. feelings 
and imagination of a poet. A convent is perched on 
the pinnacle of a neighbouring mountain, and the 
view through the opening vale is pleasant and exten- 
sive. This classical retreat, now occupied as a farm- 
house, is in such a state of coarse rusticity and neg^ 
lect, that we find some difficulty in associating it 
with the taste and elegance of its former inhabitant. 

His tomb is in the church-yard of the village, with 
four laurels at the corners. It is a sarcophagus ©f 
granite, resting on square pillars, which are supported 
by a pedestal of the same material, and it is sm> 
mounted by a head of Petrarch in bronze. 

I remember to have been struck with my want of 
sensibility while standing so near the ashes of this 
illustrious man. On these occasions a slight shade 
of melancholy may cross the mind, a certain tender- 


298 ARQD-A. 

ness steal upon the feelings, but curiosity in its crar* 
ings, or curiosity satisfied, is, in my own case, the 
prevailing sentiment. We fancy, in visiting the 
tombs of the great, that whatever has roused us in 
the hero's story, or delighted us in the visions of the 
poet, or touched us in the example of the saint, will 
now rush upon our thoughts, to give an interest to their 
remains which common dust could not inspire, and 
to affect the heart with new and unknown sensations. 
But these recollections, imperfect and faded, are 
often without enthusiasm. Perhaps we are too much 
pressed for time to indulge in reflection. We are 
never alone upon the first visit, when our impressions 
would be most vivid. The company may not have 
a. congenial taste, or the very circumstance of being 
with others is sufficient to divert the natural current 
of thought and feeling. A beggar is importuning us 
for alms; our cicerone is troubling us with imperti- 
nent information ; a crowd is gazing at us with sur- 
prise for appearing to be so much interested in things 
which, to them, are so familiar. For these and othes 
reasons we often find ourselves vacant and stupid, 
where we would have expected a thrilling emotion, 
or, if we feel, we are astonished that it is not with a 
deeper tone. 


1 passed through this city in haste, and merely 
glanced at the town hall, the pretended tomb of An- 
terior, the botanical garden, and a few of the churches. 
At one of the altars in St. Anthony's there are some 
masterly works in basso relievo, by Campagna and 
Sansovino, and in the college, near it, several fresco 
paintings, by Titian, intended to commemorate the 
miracles of the saint. 

The church of St Justina is, outwardly, in an un- 
finished state. From the unpromising appearance of 
the exterior I was not prepared for the powerful ef- 
fect it produced on entering it. The striking plan, 
perfect symmetry, and apparent magnitude of this 
church, renewed, in some measure, the astonishment 
and delight that I felt at the first sight of St. Peter's. 
There is no gaudiness nor profusion in the ornaments, 
but it is so free and disencumbered, that it has an 
appearance of vastness not to be accounted for by 
its actual dimensions, but only from the noble con- 
ceptions of the architect. The numerous domes, the 
bold and swelling roofs of the nave and aisles, the 
wide spreading arches, resting on massive pilasters, 
the deep recesses for the altars behind them, and the 
commanding elevation of the grand altar at the east 
end, all contribute, by their just proportions and in- 
dividual greatness, to give this temple a surprising 

300 PADUA. 

It is needless to enter into a detailed description 
of the precious ornaments of the twenty side altars, 
the carved work of the choir, and the tesselated pave- 
ment. These it had in common with inferior churches, 
but in none have I remarked such an unostentatious 
elegance, such a beautiful simplicity, and such a 
studied adjustment of the minor embellishments to 
the general character of the edifice. 

The martyrdom of St. Justina, behind the princi- 
pal altar, is an admired work of Paul Veronese. A 
doubtful distinction was claimed for this church 
which needs no borrowed honour, for the sexton as- 
sured me that here were the ashes of St. Luke. 

The road from Padua is hard, wide, and smooth, 
and raised eight or ten feet above the adjacent coun- 
try. In a short time we crossed the Brenta, a turbid 
stream of about two hundred feet in breadth, with 
low and naked banks. A vast number of villas are 
scattered along the river, some of which are a little 
fantastical, but many unite with great beauty an air 
of stateliness and grandeur. 

The Palazzo Pisani is about halfway between Pa- 
dua and Fusina. In general the ornaments of the 
palaces are confined to the inner court, while out- 
wardly they are heavy and deformed. But the ex- 
terior of this is most graceful and elegant. The cen- 
tral part of the building, which is raised above the 
rest, is surmounted by a pediment that rests on eight 
Corinthian pillars, one third sunk in the wall. The 
pediments of the wings, which stand out in slight re- 
lief from the body of the edifice, are supported by 

PADUA. 301 

four pilasters; and each part of the front, between the 
centre and the wings, is adorned by a double num- 
ber. The just elevation, harmonious design, and ar- 
chitectural beauty of this building, came nearer to 
my ideas of a palace, before i had ever seen one, than 
any thing else in France or Italy. The grounds 
about this villa are very extensive, and laid out with 
taste. At some distance behind it there is another 
edifice, of inferior size, with a fine, bold portico, that 
forms a part of the same splendid establishment. 

Passing the airy and pleasant village of Dolo, which 
is also on the Brenta, we came, after a short interval, 
to the delightful town of Porta della Mira. This con- 
sists principally of a succession of country-seats on 
each side of the river, which it follows for two miles 
in all its meanderings. The buildings are generally 
covered with white stucco, and surprisingly varied in 
their style and form. The courts, which are set off 
with plants, and flowers, and statues, are intermingled 
wi|fa fields and vineyards. These rustic and arti- 
ficial beauties, together with the broken and disjointed 
views of the village in its irregular course, make it 
incomparably handsomer than any I ever saw. Can- 
andaigua, to which, in certain respects, it bears some 
resemblance, wants, however, the flowing stream, the 
shifting outline, the architectural graces to which 
Palladio himself lent his aid, that give such variety 
and effect to the prospect of Porta della Mira. 

Here 1 hired a gondola to take me and my driver 
to Venice, a distance of twelve miles, for a franc and 
a half. 



On leaving the village the scenery became more 
quiet and rural. Trees festooned with vines occa- 
sionally bordered the river, and some peasant's cot- 
tage or citizen's retreat appeared at every turn. The 
sun was near setting, and feeling the influence of the 
beauties of nature under a form so engaging, I was 
lifted up with that buoyancy of spirits which imparts 
a brighter hue to the sky, a sweeter odour to the 
freshness of the fields, and a reflected charm to every 
object around us. 

As soon as we left the Brenta we saw the Venetian 
palaces, domes, and towers, rising majestically out 
of the sea. From some islands on the right, and the 
main on the left, the apparent situation of Venice is 
not altogether unlike that of New-York. By an easy 
stretch of the imagination, these two openings might 
be compared to the two rivers, the lake of Fusina to 
the bay, and the aspect of the city to our own. In 
the last respect the resemblance is actually strong, 
but the flatness of the islands and the main are a li|Me 
in the way of this agreeable illusion. 

One meets in this country with mementos to devo- 
tion where they would scarcely be expected. In the 
midst of the lake there is a picture of the Virgin and 
infant Saviour fixed on poles, for the veneration of 
those who may chance to pass it. 

While moving smoothly over these peaceful waters, 
in sight of this curious and far-famed city, I was 
surprised at my own tranquillity. The eager impa- 
tience of curiosity soon abates, and wonder is soon 
exhausted. And I passed through the canals of 


Venice, and stepped from my gondola into the court 
of the hotel as if these acts were common and fa- 


May 23d. I arrived here in the evening, and oq 
the following day took a general view of the city. 
The square of St. Mark is very striking at first 
sight, notwithstanding the blemishes which may of- 
fend the eye of the critic. Three sides of it are formed 
by three immense edifices, each of which, though 
differing from the others, preserves an individual uni- 
formity. They are three stories high, with as many 
galleries extending along the whole front, and open- 
ing upon the court by arches and windows, surmount- 
ed by circular and triangular pediments. They are 
faced with pillars and pilasters of the several Greek 
orders. The fourth side of the square is made up by 
the rich and fantastical church of St. Mark, its un- 
couth and lofty belfry, and a section of the Ducal 
palace. All these buildings are of fine marble, and 
if there were less of correctness in the ornaments, or 
boldness in the design, there would still be a degree 
of magnificence in them from their greatness and 

la turning towards the quay to the left we pass 



through a short but wide street, which is lined on one 
side by the Ducal palace, and on the other by the li- 
brary and mint. The latter presents a beautiful front of 
corresponding architecture. The lower story is Do- 
rick, and the upper Ionic. The library was built after 
the plan of Sansovino. The Ducal palace is in the fan- 
ciful arabesque style. In the lower portico pointed 
arches rest on half columns, the stunted height of 
which is in no proportion to their great diameter. In 
the second gallery the arches are less spreading, the 
shafts more slender, and the whole so ornamented as 
to give it an air of delicacy and frailty, altogether un- 
suitable to the lofty and massive wall which rises 
above. Still, though it violates all rule, the Ducal 
palace is an interesting and picturesque object in the 
general group. Two lofty columns stand at the 
end of this piazzetta towards the sea. 

Here a new and beautiful sight breaks in upon us. 
On the left of the great canal Giudecca the eye, run- 
ning along the broad and well paved quay, in a slight 
curve, meets with several stately edifices, and a ge- 
neral face of elegance. On the opposite side there is 
a narrow strip of land, which with the islands of St. 
George and Giudecca form an irregular line, almost 
corresponding in extent with the quay. Amidst the 
long ranges of store houses and dwellings on the two 
last, we distinguish the fine fronts, the cupolas, and 
towers of the celebrated churches of St. George and 
the Redeemer, and catch partial views of others. 
The breadth of the canal, the glimpses of the sea 
through the breaks in the islands, and the mixed 

Venice, 305 

style of architecture in the buildings so beautiful and 
pure, and yet so grotesque and fantastical, render this 
part of Venice more imposing even than the Rialto, 
and more singular than any thing in the world* 

On my return to the square of St. Mark, a great 
multitude were promenading in the arcades, or sitting 
under them, and taking ices, coffee, and other refresh- 
ments. The gay and sprightly Venetians were mix- 
ed with Frenchmen, Englishmen, Germans, Ameri- 
cans, Greeks, and Turks. The last were distinguish- 
ed from the rest by their oriental costume. They 
were collected in little knots apart, and standing idly, 
or sitting cross-legged under the arches, seemed to 
prefer the indolent ease of their own habits to the ac- 
tivity and animation of the crowd. The vivacity of 
the Italians, who appeared to be entirely taken up 
with each other ; the curious and inquisitive looks of 
strangers; the varying physiognomy and dress of so 
many different people; the flutter of the passing 
groups ; the easy air and unconstrained mirth of those 
who were ranged before the coffee-rooms, together 
with the vastness and splendour of all the surround- 
ing objects, produced a more lively and cheering ef- 
fect than can well be imagined by those who have 
not been accustomed to such motley assemblies, and 
to the throng and display of a continental festival. 

When there was no settled plan for passing my time 
I was always wandering about, in the expectation of 
either seeing or hearing something deserving of at- 
tention, and it seldom happened that I was disap- 
pointed. In the afternoon, stopping at the cathe- 


006 Venice. 

dral a moment, and finding no service of any kind 
there, 1 directed my steps towards St. Pietro di Cas- 
tello, where they informed me there was to be an in- 
teresting ceremony. After a vast deal of preparation, 
with torches carried in massy candlesticks, and gaudy 
lamps covered with canopies of damask, boys bearing 
bouquets of flowers, soldiers mixing military parade 
with a religious solemnity, it turned out to be no- 
thing more than a procession of the host. The peo- 
ple seemed to regard it with the same kind of eager- 
ness and interest as would be seen at any other spec- 
tacle. When the priests left the church the drums 
beat, the guns were fired, the bells rung, and it might 
rather have been thought a day of worldly rejoicing 
than the Fete de Dieu. But considering it as a mere 
pageant, I was amused by the noise, the crowd, the 
colours of all nations,* suspended over the streets 
through which the procession passed, the damasks, 
new and old, hanging from the houses, and the ear- 
nest curiosity of the women, who, in their gayest 
attire, filled the balconies and windows. 

On the way I passed a merry company, collected 
around two itinerant musicians. A little farther on 
two men were offering songs for sale, and delivering, 
as it would seem, rhymes impromptu, in order to 
attract the attention of those who were going by, 
and they succeeded at least in drawing smiles, if not 
money, from high and low. 

Observing some people entering the church della 

* Among them I remarked our own star spangled banner. 

YENICE. $01 

Pieta, I went in with them, and was fortunate enough 
to be entertained with a charming concert. About 
twenty female orphans were in the choir. They 
were partially concealed by a screen of net or wick- 
erwork Several of them played on different in- 
struments, and six or eight rilled up the harmony 
with their voices. Though less sweet and plaintive 
than the music of Rome or Loretto, some parts 
were very delightful, and others showed an incredi- 
ble compass of voice and wonderful execution and 

The fine walk on the quay, this evening, was still 
more gay and cheerful from the crowds assembled to 
enjoy it. Never, in the course of one day's rambles, 
did I see such a rare show of beauty. It was a gift 
lavished upon the multitude, but in a few it was 
matchless. The Venetian women, in general, have 
clear and fair complexions; light blue eyes, together 
with a profusion of dark hair hanging partly in ring- 
iets on the neck; sparkling and animated counte- 
nances, and, at the same time, a feminine softness ; 
a degree of the flush and fullness of health, without 
its ruddiness and coarseness; a stature somewhat 
lower than the English, and forms more airy and 
graceful. But, as an observing traveller* has remark- 
ed, " It is neither the person, the complexion, nor the 
features, which constitute the characters of Venetian 
beauty, but the expression. We see here the great- 
est gentleness without that insipidity with which it is 

f Arthur Young. 

303 VENICE. 

so often accompanied, charms which have a magical 
attraction, but which are rather calculated to move 
the heart than to excite conversation." The power 
of these attractions is increased by the greatest ele- 
gance and taste in dress, for here it is made to assist 
nature and not to cramp and deform it. Close and 
neat, yet easy and flowing ; simple, modest, and un- 
obtrusive, without any degree of glare or extrava- 
gance ; it appeared as perfect and unrivalled as 
their beauty. 

May 25th. In taking a more minute survey of the 
city afterwards, it was necessary to make use of a 

The Riatto, a fine stone bridge, is associated with 
a familiar and domestic image, the keen and unre- 
lenting Shylock, and the admirers of Shakspeare 
seem to have a greater property in it than the Vene- 
tians themselves. 

The signs in this city cannot escape the observa- 
tion of a stranger. I saw the following on a coffee- 
house, la Divina Providenza, the Divine Providence; 
and another still more curious, speziera dtlla Madonna, 
the grocery of My Lady. These singular indications 
of piety are still more common at Naples. 

Gliding along in the gondola from one street to ano- 
ther, we at length found ourselves before the church 
of St, George. Four lofty pillars, of the composite 
order, support a pediment in the centre. The wings 
are considerably lower, and decorated with pilasters ; 
above which, on each side, there is a small section of 
a pediment. The entablature runs across the whole 

VENICE. 309 

front, except where it is broken by the pillars. This 
double design, where the centre is confused by the 
subordinate plan of the wings, and where the wings 
would have completed the front had not the pedi- 
ment been interrupted by the centre, appeared to me 
defective, in spite of the great name of Palladio. 

The interiour, however, is exceedingly beautiful. 
The nave, the aisles, and arm of the cross, are orna- 
mented with stone pillars, and a neat and elegant 
entablature runs around the whole church. There- 
are some good pictures here by Bassano and Tinto- 

The church of the Redeemer, by Palladio, is in 
the same style as the former, and liable to the same 
objections. Within it is faultless. There is but one 
aisle, with a transept and dome. Ten Corinthian 
pillars are half sunk in the walls, on each side, and 
four stand out from the semicircular recess behind 
the grand altar. In proportion, simplicity, and grace, 
it surpasses St. George's, and though inferior to many 
churches in majesty and splendour, yet, in these re^ 
spects, it scarcely has a parallel. 

The church del Giosuati, on the opposite side of 
the canal, appeared to me of a more chaste and pleas- 
ing design without than either of the others. The 
front, merely adorned with four noble columns and 
a single pediment, is certainly more conformable to 
the severer taste of the ancients. 

The palaces along the grand canal rest on a high 
and massy basement. The superstructure is gene- 
sally light and elegant, but without boldness or gran- 

310 Venice. 

deur. In some there is an excess of ornament, m 
others a mixture of the grotesque style of the middle 
ages, and in the greater part of them some architec- 
tural defect. The most beautiful and correct are the 
Grimani and Tiepolo, by Palladio; the Rezzonico 
and Pesaro, by Longhena; and the Cornaro, by San- 
micheli. They are all either of stone or marble. 

The front of the Scalzi church is crowded with 
composite columns. The interiour is rich and splen- 
did, but there is a garish display in it that is utterly 
at variance with purity and taste. Three windows 
of blue crystal throw a beautiful reflection on the 
pillars over one of the altars, and a window of yellow 
crystal imparts a most brilliant light to the rays of a 
glory over another. 

Notwithstanding, however, the particular faults of 
the costly edifices just noticed, and the various style 
and decorations of the humbler dwellings with which 
they are mixed, the grand canal is a superb and state- 
ly spectacle. 

In this novel excursion our gondola passed through 
almost every quarter of Venice, and enabled me to 
form a general idea of the city. The quay, the square 
of St. Mark, and the grand canal, comprehend all 
that is great and striking. Narrow streets ; houses 
originally covered with stucco, but which having 
fallen off in many places, now shows the bricks 
beneath in patches ; a dull and sullen appearance, 
and a strange silence, interrupted only by a few 
voices, the oars of the gondoliers, and their cries to 
each other when about to turn a corner to take care,; 

VENICE. 311 

the canals beginning to be offensive before the end 
of May, and probably very noisome by midsummer; 
these peculiarities render a large part of Venice as 
ugly and unpleasant as the other is gay and magnifi- 
cent. You neither hear the hum of business, nor the 
clatter of wheels, nor trampling of horses, nor see 
any living thing but man. There is not only a bar- 
rier between opposite neighbours, but very often those 
who live next door to each other would be kept 
asunder without the friendly aid of a gondola. With- 
in the large squares formed by the intersecting canals, 
there is some communication by means of dark and 
narrow allies, where four men can scarcely walk 
abreast, but the communication between the squares 
by bridges is extremely rare. Venice is therefore an 
object of wonder and curiosity to strangers, though 
in most parts a very inconvenient and disagreeable 
place of residence. 

May 26th. This morning I went to see the gallery 
©f the Marquis Manfrini. The collection fills nine 
rooms, and many of the pictures are very valuable. 
But there is one that cannot be described with truth 
without an air of extravagance. It is a half figure of 
Mary Magdalen, by that captivating painter who 
knew how to give the most benign and lovely ex- 
pression to the countenance of the Son of God, though 
his genius was not sufficiently bold and soaring to 
reach its dignity. This woman is not here represent- 
ed in her appropriate character of a penitent, but as 
one of the most beautiful and interesting of her sex. 
The features are strongly marked, high forehead, 

312 VENICE. 

large dark eyes, prominent nose, the upper lip deep!/ 
indented, and the lower full and swelling, the corners 
of the mouth somewhat sunk and shaded, and the 
chin in perfect unison with the other striking outlines. 
And yet with all this character and expression there 
is no harshness nor severity, but, on the contrary, such 
a winning openness, such feminine grace, such ex- 
quisite sweetness, such a union of softness and 
strength, that in gazing at it you are absolutely en- 
tranced. So much loveliness before it received the 
chaste impression which heaven gives to the face 
when it purifies the heart, might have easily seduced 
others and betrayed herself, but now there is an air 
of delicacy and elevation, and a slight contraction in 
the brow, which marks the determined resolution to 
sin no more. The transport of the beholder is accom- 
panied with the respect which innocence always in- 
spires. This beautiful Magdalen is the work of Carlo 
Dolce. I was glad to find my own enthusiastic ad- 
miration supported, by an involuntary burst of delight 
and surprise from a company that followed me the 
momenfthey saw it. 

The Lucretia of Guido Reni, in the act of killing 
herself, would rivet attention by the elegance of form, 
the beauty of feature, the purity, the dignity, did not 
anguish at the recollection of violated honour, mad- 
ness, despair, the stern resolve to die, make the pas- 
sions rush into the face and reveal her very soul. 

In Carlo Dolce's St. Cecilia, the patroness of mu- 
sic, there is something so mild, so tender and heaven- 
ly, that she seems to be moulded by the influence of 


those tender strains with which she melts and ravishes 

On the vault of one of the chambers there is a 
beautiful fresco painting of Paul Veronese, repre- 
senting the feast of Hebe surrounded by all the gods 
and goddesses. 

The deposition of our Saviour from the cross, by 
Titian, appeared to me superior to any of his works. 
The Virgin stands off a little inclining towards the 
corpse, yet dreading to approach it; her hands are 
clasped in agony; her mouth is slightly opened; and 
her whole countenance is marked with a grief ready 
to break out with phrenzy were it not too deep for 
utterance. She is supported by a female who, though 
affected by the sight before her, is still more con- 
cerned for the mother. What an earnest and ex- 
pressive gaze on the pallid and blood-stained body 
of our Lord from the person who holds his feet! 
"What feeling is seen even in the air and attitude of 
the one at the head, whose face is hidden ! What, 
ease and felicity in the grouping of the figures! It 
is a solemn and touching scene passing before our 
eyes. The Viceroy of Naples offered a hundred and 
twenty thousand francs for this picture. 

At the Ducal palace several large historical pieces, 
setting forth the circumstances of the Republic's glory, 
by Bassano, Aliense, Vecellio, and Contarino, are in- 
teresting in themselves, and still more so from their 
appropriate character, in that very building where 
the deliberations were held that gave birth to the 
events they commemorate. 


514 VENICE. 

The whole ceiling of a spacious hall, together with 
parts of two others, is entirely covered with the paint- 
ings of Paul Veronese. 

In the rear of this palace there is a terrible and 
affecting memento of the cruel and inquisitorial 
government which once prevailed in Venice. The 
state prison was separated from it only by a canal. 
High above is the bridge of sighs, a narrow passage 
connecting the judgment-hall with the dungeons of 
fear and death. The examination of the prisoners 
was conducted with the most jealous precautions, 
and if the unhappy wretch who crossed this bridge 
with trembling, returned in despair, nothing further 
was known of him. He was taken from the prison 
by night, carried through the canal to a distant part 
of the lake, and drowned with such secrecy that his 
fate was a mystery to all but .the arbiters of it. His 
friends were left in the cruel agitations of hope and 
fear, till lingering anguish settled into the dreadful 
certainty that he was no more. 

From the Ducal palace I went to the belfry of St. 
Mark's,*and mounted up to the top, which is three 
hundred feet high. The prospect was varied and 
extensive — the main land, the distant mountains, the 
Adriatic, the city beneath, so curiously cut up by the 
course of the waters, the thick cluster of domes, and 
towers, and spires, rising above it, and the sixty-six 
islands with which it is girt, as if to adorn it by their 
beauty and defend it from the flood. 

The four bronze horses, from Corinth, so long the 
decoration of triumphal arches in Rome and Con-. 

VENICE. 315 

atantinople, the trophy of the Venetian Republic's 
victory over the Turk, and lately the glory of the 
Thuilleries, are now restored, and once more stand 
proudly over the portal of St. Mark's. 

In a visit to my banker, Mr. Heinzelman, I found 
laim impressed with a very common sentiment among 
well informed people on the continent, in regard to 
our country. He said that we were the freest people 
on earth, and marching with a rapid pace to conse- 
quence and power. He condemned, in strong terms, 
the conduct of the British in burning Washington, 
and admired the prudence and spirit with which our 
President had rejected the mediation of England be- 
tween Spain and the United States. And, in short, 
manifested that partiality and respect for our institu- 
tions and character which are almost uniformly 
shown here by all who speak of them. 

May 27th. To-day I again went to the gallery of 
the Marquis of Manfrini. The conversation of the 
servant, who was my conductor through it, amused 
me. " They say that Bonaparte is in America, and 
that he is made first consul. The people of this 
country are every where dissatisfied with the present 
state of things, and long for his return." There is 
never a suspicion that an American would not cor^ 
dially unite with them in this wish. 

After having visited some other objects of little 
interest, and taken a view of the two large lions of 
granite, in front of the arsenal, that were formerly at 
the Piraeus of Athens, I made arrangements for my 
departure. It is a fact so extraordinary as to be 

316 VENICE. 

worthy of notice, that at the close of my short stay 
ill Venice I had not seen a single beggar, and quite 
as much so, that I received my passport signed for 
Milan, without having any thing to pay. 

In taking leave of my gondola it would not, per- 
haps, be uninteresting to give some description of this 
curiosity. It is a long but small, flat bottomed skiff, 
pointed at each end, with an iron beak at the prow. 
Being extremely light and easily managed, it glides 
on with great velocity. It is painted black, a car- 
pet is spread under foot, and a neat cabin rises up 
near the centre of the boat, which will hold four per- 
sons very commodiously. It may be made perfectly 
tight without destroying the prospect, for there are 
sliding sashes both at the sides and in front. It is 
lined, inside and out, with black cloth, the cushions 
on the seats are covered with black leather, and the 
exterior, being ornamented at the top with knots or 
bunches of black silk, it looks more like a mournful 
bier than a pleasure boat. Notwithstanding this fu- 
nereal air, it is so graceful in form, and moves along 
with so'much ease and celerity, that it is quite an 
agreeable vehicle. 

I passed on rapidly from Fusina to Padua. Here 
taking another turn through the church of St. Justina, 
which, like all great things, grew upon my admira- 
tion, I set off the next morning for Vicenza. 

May 28th. The district between this city and Pa- 
dua was exceedingly fertile, well watered with small 
streams, and abounding in vineyards, rice fields, 
wheat, rye, and corn. Though it was so early in the 

V1CENZA. 317 

season the hay was already mown, and the air per- 
fumed with its fragrance. Among the farmers there 
was a great appearance of comfort, and the hand- 
some country-seats all along this route furnished a 
proof of ease and prosperity in the larger proprietors. 
A broad, smooth, and firm road completed the satis- 
faction which is felt in seeing a people flourishing 
and happy. This was the principal charm of the 
prospect, though it put on greater beauty as we drew 
towards Vicenza. 


The birth-place of Palladio would have but little 
to distinguish it, were it not embellished by his 
genius. There is a simple elegance in the house of 
this artist, which is somewhat marred by being in- 
corporated with a common dwelling. 

The theatre built by him on the supposed plan of 
the ancient theatres, must have always been admired 
for its transcendent beauty, but since the discoveries 
of Herculaneum and Pompeii, it has received a 
higher interest from the singular correspondence of 
his imperfect lights and conjectures, with what is 
there found to have been their actual state. The 
general form of the edifice, the semicircular seats 
rising above each other, the space between the lower 
range and the stage, the stage itself, and the doors 


at the sides where the actors entered, are all surpris- 
ingly verified by the remains of these ancient edi- 
fices, though there are no traces here of the colonnade 
above the seats, nor of the standing scenery. The 
excavations, however, were not continued behind the 
stage at Herculaneum, and parts so fragile and pe- 
rishable may have been destroyed at Pompeii. The 
correctness of the rest will induce us to believe in 
the uniformity of the whole. 

The colonnade here, formed of twenty-eight Co- 
rinthian pillars, with a rich entablature, above which 
there are many statues, is a light and elegant deco- 
ration. Behind the stage arises a partition or wall, 
highly ornamented with columns, basso relievos, and 
niches filled with statues, in the centre of which is a 
lofty arched gate, and on each side a large door- way. 
These open upon three streets; the one in the middle, 
running in a right line, and the others diverging from 
it. The perspective is fine, and very much like the 
entrance into Rome from the Piazza del Popolo. 
This is the scenery which, in the ancient theatres, 
never shifted. If the materials were as precious and 
durable as the plan of the building is correct and 
happy, our pleasure would be perfect. But wood 
and stucco are frail memorials of what should last 
for ever. 

The palaces of this artist, faced with double rows 
of Doric and Ionic columns, or of the lighter orders, 
with some minor embellishments of his own, are 
ranked among the best of his works. They are 
thought unrivalled in purity, design, elevation, and 


general effect. Still there appeared to me a want 
of stateliness and magnificence, which can only con- 
sist with greater severity and simplicity. This may, 
in part, be owing to the poverty of the materials of 
which they are built, and an air of neglect and de- 
cay. The stucco (for none are of marble or stone) 
has in some places fallen off, and two or three are 
much soiled and defaced. The Barberini and Tiene 
palaces are perhaps the most beautiful. 

The villa of Capra, which is also one of his works, is 
charmingly situated on a slight eminence, command- 
ing on every side the most delightful views It is 
arotundo, with alow dome, and four porticos of cor- 
responding style. It wants elevation, but it is simple 
in form, chaste in the ornaments, light, airy, and 
graceful as the scene which surrounds it. 

An immense stone portico, of three quarters of a 
mile in length, leads to the church of the Madonna- 
del Monte, on a neighbouring hill. But the prepara- 
tion is too costly for the final object. In the refectory 
there is a large picture of our Saviour sitting with St. 
Gregory at a crowded and splendid banquet, by Paul 
Veronese. Apart from this strange anachronism it 
is an interesting piece, easy, natural, and full of spirit 
and truth. 

From the top of the belfry we see the bold sweep 
of the Tyrolese mountains; the rich plains of Lom- 
bardy extending as far as the eye can reach, and 
strewed with towns, hamlets, and villas; the city of 
Padua, dimmed by distance; and Vicenzaat our feet, 
amidst a profusion of rural beauties. 

320 VERONA. 

On leaving this city the road winds through the 
Euganean hills, which are occasionally pointed with 
a church, fortress, or tower. It was pleasant to see, 
in the fields, productions that were familiar, and a 
cultivation more like our own. The church of the 
Madonna della Ca?npagna, a large rotundo, with a fine 
dome surrounded by about thirty columns, standing 
solitarily in the plain, would be a matter of astonish- 
ment in any other country, but here it is too common 
to excite surprise. 


This city is celebrated as the birth-place of Vitru 
vius and Pliny the elder, of Maffei, and one of the 
Scaligers. It contains the sepulchres of the last, 
which are three light Gothic structures, curiously 
ornamented with spires, fret- work, and statues. The 
bodies rest in sarcophagi in the second story. I 
went down into the gloomy vault of king Pepin, 
where there are some rude attempts at state to honour 
the royal ashes. But it is not without interest, though 
it may be without faith, that we survey, in a private 
garden, the empty sarcophagous of Juliet. Any con- 
nexion, even though by traditionary fables, with the 
wild fancies and sweet illusions o*f Shakspeare, pro- 
duces a kind of indefinable pleasure. The romantic 

VERONA. 321 

passion and tragical fate of Romeo and Juliet, com- 
municate a secret charm to Veronetta, where the 
scene of their loves is laid, which will be felt by every 
one who has lent his imagination to the story itself, 
and the mad pranks of Petruchio and the humours of 
the two gentlemen of Verona, will, without doubt, in- 
crease it. 

In the Lycee des Filles young ladies are not only 
taught the softer and more common accomplish- 
ments of their sex, but German, Latin, riding, and 

The porta del Pallio, constructed by Sanmicheli, 
with Doric columns on the outer side, and girdled 
pillars within, rivals, in solidity and gigantic strength, 
the massive gates of antiquity. The palace of go- 
vernment, by the same architect, is handsome, but 

The museum of Maffei contains a large collection 
of antiques, but after the more splendid cabinets of 
Rome and Naples, we are apt to run through others 
with too much negligence and haste. 

The gate of the emperor Gallienus, in the poverty 
of design and superabundance of ornament, shows a 
wonderful decline in the arts, even at a period so lit- 
tle removed from the sera of their perfection. 

The churches of Verona are generally built in bad 
taste. In that of Saint Anastasia nothing struck me 
but a picture of Rottari, where a child is raised from 
the dead, by Vicenza Ferrara. The progress of re- 
suscitation, in the opening of the glazed and vacant 
eyes, and other movements and appearances of the 



body, seemed wonderfully natural, as well as the 
grateful look of the mother, the astonishment of the 
beholders, and the calm dignity of the saint. 

In the cathedral the assumption of the Virgin into 
heaven, by Titian, places before our eyes the aerial 
form of a blessed spirit just merged in the glorious 
light that beams from the throne towards which 
she is ascending. The apostles about her broken 
and deserted tomb are variously affected, either 
doubting their senses in the vision before them, 
and examining whether the body is gone, or lifting 
up their eyes with wonder, and clasping their hands 
in ecstacy, or bowed down to the earth and over- 
whelmed with amazement. The palpable excellen- 
cies in this piece of Titian might convince almost any 
one that his admiration was not misplaced, though 
his judgment were not assured by the approbation of 

The Adige, dividing Verona and Veronetta, flows 
rapidly through the city. On the front of the church 
of St. George, in the latter, and on an adjoining house, 
the marks of hundreds of bullets, from the musketry 
of the French, in their attack on the Austrians in 
1805, are still visible. 

I have seldom met with a painting so impressive 
and affecting as the martyrdom of St. George in this 
church, by Paul Veronese. His body is partly strip- 
ped, which, with his fine, manly countenance, is 
somewhat blanched by the instinctive fears of nature, 
rather than by the fainting of the soul ; for you can see 
that those bended knees support him firmly, that 

VERONA. 323 

those outstretched arms have no convulsive motion 
of despair, that those eyes, fixed on heaven, expect 
succour from God. His confessor, at his side, encou- 
rages him ; but it is Paradise laid open, and angels 
waiting to crown him, which brings that flush in his 
cheek, and counteracts the revulsion of nature. We 
are agitated by this struggle, and our commiseration 
is increased by the dignity and fortitude of the 

The amphitheatre of Verona is in a more perfect 
State than any other in Italy. Only a small portion 
of the outer wall is standing, but within it is almost 
entire. From this fragment we discover that it was 
three stories high, that it was simply adorned with 
Doric pilasters, and that the elevation, as well as the 
extent, was somewhat greater than the amphitheatre 
of Nismes. On entering it we see the gates at the 
extremities of the arena, the galleries above them 
for the consuls, the different vomitories, the seats 
rising in a complete circuit nearly to the summit, and 
the flights of steps intersecting them on every side. 
It has been restored in modern times upon the origi- 
nal plan, and scarcely any thing is wanting except 
the slope of smaller seats from the outer wall. 

But though curiosity is gratified by this perfect ex- 
hibition of the internal structure of such an edifice, 
yet the imagination is disappointed. In clambering 
over the mouldering arches and scattered seats of the 
amphitheatre of Nismes, or ranging through the cor- 
ridors of the Coliseum, or walking amongst the vast 
masses of ruin at ancient Capua, there is a selenu? 



and sublime feeling of which I was not sensible here. 
Fancy fills up the picture with a free and daring 
hand, and the reality, compared with the grand con- 
ception, is diminutive and tame. 

Verona appears to great advantage from the top 
of the amphitheatre. The city rises gradually to the 
north till it is lost on the heights in the farm-houses, 
the villas, gardens, orchards, and fields of a sweet 
and rural suburb. Beyond these hills, which swell 
and fall with a charming effect, is the irregular line 
of battlemented walls, strengthened at intervals by 
lofty towers. From the south-west to the north-east 
a chain of mountains stretches around at a distance, 
and the rest of the circle is completed by a rich and 
boundless plain. 

The constant sight of these mountains afforded 
some relief to the dull prospect of the sandy region 
through which the road first passes that leads to 
Mantua. But soon after the rice plantations, the ex- 
tensive meadows, and the increasing fertility of the 
soil, materially changed the aspect of the country. 



This city is situated in the midst of a lake formed 
by the waters of the Mincio. Besides this natural 
defence it is very strongly fortified. Within it is neat, 
regular, and rather beautiful. The cathedral resem- 
bles, in some respects, St. Maria Maggiore at Rome. 
The roof of the middle nave is flat, and covered with 
gilded stucco. Two rows of Corinthian columns 
on each side divide the church into five aisles. The 
vault of the dome is painted by Corta, and the tran- 
sept and semicircular recess behind the grand altar 
by Castiglione. Giulio Romano, who was the archi- 
tect, has been too lavish of his ornaments, and too 
complicated in his plan, to give it the majesty at 
which he aimed, though it combines a degree of 
stateliness with great beauty and splendour. There 
is a picture here of Guercino, designed to celebrate 
the miraculous power of St. Egidio in healing the 
leg of a wounded horse. 

The church of St. Andrew is built in a style of 
simple grandeur, with one vast nave and a fine dome. 
Some of the fresco paintings on the walls, by Agostino 
Campi, are very interesting, particularly the confes- 
sion of St. Thomas, the ascension of our Saviour, and 
his interview with the disciples at Emmaus. 

In a crucifixion here by Giulio Romano, there is a 
circumstance at which both our taste and our feelings 

326 MANTUA. 

revolt. Angels are receiving in cups the blood that 
drops from the pierced hands of our Lord. 

I was much struck in passing through the Jews' 
quarter, with the universal resemblance of this strong- 
ly marked race wherever they are to be found. 

It rained a great part of the time while I was 
here, which not only made my survey of the city very 
hasty, but also deprived me of an opportunity of visit- 
ing the birth-place of Virgil in the neighbourhood. 

Soon after leaving Mantua we crossed a branch of 
the Po, and then the Po itself. It began to rain again, 
and to be so cold and uncomfortable, as to make the 
shelter of a miserable cabin, where there was a little 
fire, very acceptable while we were detained at one 
of the ferries. Indeed there was very often, even 
at this season, a sharpness in the morning and 
evening air of the northern part of Italy, against waich 
a great coat was not always a sufficient protec- 
tion. Through the rest of the day the weather 
was delightful. The great excellence of this climate 
is its mild uniformity in winter, and almost imper- 
ceptible* progress to the warmth of spring. Judg- 
ing merely from my feelings, the change was very 
inconsiderable, but I had no opportunity of ascertain- 
ing the absolute difference by making a comparison 
with the thermometer. The eye, a3 it looks abroad 
upon nature, does not help one to a more accurate 
opinion, for here verdure, and flowers, and fruits ani- 
mate a scene, which in our frozen region is dead and 
cheerless, and April is but little more gay and smil- 
ing than February. When we got to Naples vegeta- 

MANTUA, 327 

lion was almost as backward as at Nice in midwinter, 
and to enjoy the glorious beauty of this luxuriant 
country, it is common for strangers to defer their 
visit till late in May. Another charm of this delici- 
ous climate is a sky but seldom clouded, and an 
atmosphere without fog or vapour. During the five 
months I spent in Italy there were scarcely as many 
rainy days. The damp and chilly winds, which 
among us are both the harbingers and companions 
of storms, are here unknown. There is a kind of 
balsamic softness in the air when it rains at Nice, 
which used to be felt at once by Mr. Hands, whose 
lungs were more sensitive than mine, and which gave 
him immediate relief. And though the dry winds 
coming through the passes of the mountains were 
occasionally somewhat keen and uncomfortable, yet 
I rode out there almost daily on horseback without 
ever using a surtout. 

After crossing the Po we kept along upon the em- 
bankment, which serves at once for a road and a se- 
curity against inundations. This mound is raised 
about ten or twelve feet above the river. The waters 
appeared at several points to be a little higher than 
the adjoining lands. The country through which 
we were now passing was pleasant and productive. 
The villages were more neat and regular than com- 
mon, and among the farmers there was generally a 
look of comfort, and frequently of ease and wealth. 

This morning, in a ride of about twenty miles, I 
was stopped eight times for the examination of my 
baggage and passport. It is a serious vexation, for 

$°M *ARMA. 

which, however, there is no remedy but patience or 
the most wasteful prodigality. Sometimes, to avoid 
detention, I gave them a trifle, and sometimes I sub- 
mitted to it, to disappoint their insatiable cupidity. 


June 1st. My hurried visit to this city has left be- 
hind a vivid impression of beauty and delight, which 
it owes, in a great degree, to the genius of Corregio, 
who adorned it. It is here that our admiration of this 
distinguished man kindles into enthusiasm. We are 
astonished that so much excellence could be recon- 
ciled with so much labour. Any one of his works 
would have placed him among the highest in the 
art, and yet we meet with his master-pieces wherever 
we go. 

In the* cathedral, along the cornice of the nave, 
there are some fine heads of this painter, in fresco. 
The assumption of the Virgin, on the vault of the 
cupola, which is the wonder of all men of taste, has 
suffered so much from the smoke of the torches for 
ever burning on the altars, and, perhaps, also from 
humidity, as to confound it almost with meaner 
works. She is surrounded with a multitude of the 
heavenly host, and the expression of the figures is 
thought to be angelic. But whether from the height 

PARMA, 329 

of the dome, the dimness of the light, and the tar- 
nish which has been gathering over it for nearly three 
hundred years, I was led to survey it carelessly, or 
whether, from my ignorance of the art, I was unable 
to catch those hidden graces and obscured beauties 
which would not, perhaps, escape the eye of a con- 
noisseur, my pleasure in beholding this famous 
painting was not proportioned to its reputation. 

A simple slab of marble, with a brief inscription, 
inserted in the wall, is the only memorial of A gostino 
Carracci, whose remains lie in the cathedral. The 
chapter, consisting of sixty or seventy clergymen, 
were celebrating mass while I was examining the 
pictures, and my attention was frequently diverted 
hy their solemn chant, and the fine, deep swell of the 

The cupola of the church of St. John contains 
another admired work of Corregio. Our Saviour^ 
is raised on high, and the apostles are sitting on 
clouds beneath him. Some of the figures appeared 
to be of an unnatural size, but they were studied as 
models by the three Carracci. The St. John, over 
the door of the vestry, is considerably discoloured by 
smoke. This beautiful and interesting piece is 
thought to bear a strong resemblance to the style of 
Raphael. The transfiguration of Parmigiano is na- 
tural and striking. A bright light is spread about 
our Saviour, like a thin fleecy cloud touched by the 
first rays of the dawning. The other personages are 
well executed, and none are introduced but such as 
the narration warrants. 


330 FARMAr 

At the palace of Maria Louisa, wife of Bonaparte ? 
but now Dutchess of Parma, there are some splen- 
did relicks of her toilet* The cradle of the king 
of Rome; a table, supporting a mirror, with urns, 
and many other ornaments ; and the frame of a large 
dressing-glass, are all of massy and solid silver. 
The value of these royal vanities is supposed to be 
four millions of francs. 

Here also an immense piece of the finest cashmere 
was unfolded for exhibition, twenty feet in breadth, 
and thirty in length, that formed a part of the tapes- 
try with which her dressing-room was hung. The 
whole cost a million of francs. 

What bitter mementos of imperial pomp and 
fallen power! And an empress, sharing in the dignity 
of one who set up kings and dethroned them, reduced 
to a petty duchy, with a nominal authority, but, in re- 
ality a slave! For I was told that the watchful jea- 
lousy of her father never left her a moment without 
the attendance of an Austrian general, who acted as 
a spy. Her chamber was the only refuge from this 

In an apartment of the palace of the garden we 
bave partial views of some scenes from Orlando Fu- 
rioso, by Parmigiano. A greater respect for delicacy 
and purity than for the genius which sought to dis- 
play itself in violating them, lead the last Duke Fer- 
dinand de Bourbon, to have the walls whitewashed, 
and to put an end to an exhibition so corrupting. 
Persons were now employed by the ex-empress to 
remove the veil which concealed such beauty, and 

PARMA. 331 

they had succeeded in raising curiosity to the highest 
pitch by what was already revealed. 

Considerable progress has been made in restoring 
a second, painted by Annibal Carracci. The stories 
are taken from Tasso, and it is therefore called the 
hall of Armida. The meeting of Rinaldo with the 
enchantress, and the triumphs of her sorcery, are 
here subjected to the eye instead of the imagination, 
and so freely and wantonly as to give them a more 
pernicious effect. The first feeling on beholding 
this whitewashing is indignation or contempt for the 
barbarous taste of the destroyer. The second is very 
different. For is there not something reasonable and 
heroical in such a sacrifice to purity? 

Even those, however, who think differently, might 
almost pardon this injury, for his forbearance towards 
the chamber of Augustin Carracci. What divine 
charms in these groups, if the subjects were less pro- 
fane! Ariadne and Bacchus, Mars and Venus, Ga- 
latea and her sea nymphs, the flying Daphne, can 
furnish nothing for our moral improvement ; but the 
circumstances of their story have given scope to the 
imagination, and drawn forth all the skill of the 
painter. It was comparatively, however, a clear and 
wholesome region, where the varied beauties of the 
objects around might be gazed at without dreading 
any danger from our enjoyment. 

In an apartment of the church of St. Paul there 
is an admirable fresco painting of Corregio. It is 
the chase of Diana. In the lower part of the small 
<lome the whole circuit is filled with little boys, each 

332 PARMA. 

of whom has some emblem of the sylvan sport. One 
is holding the horns, a second the arrows, a third the 
dogs, and a fourth the head of the stag. Some of 
them stand out from the ceiling in such full relief 3 
and are so inimitably executed, that they seem like 
real and animated beings. They were thought too 
valuable by the French to adorn the refectory of a 
convent, and several of them were cut out and trans- 
ported to the Louvre ; but since the restoration of 
the spoils of Italy, they have been carefully replaced. 
Over the mantle-piece Diana is seen sitting in her 
car, with her quiver behind her. The horses are at 
full speed; her countenance expresses the eagerness 
of the chase ; her garments are loose and flowing ; 
and the graceful goddess herself appears as light as 
the air on which they are floating. 

Among the paintings in the academy there are 
several of pre-eminent beauty by Corregio, the Ma- 
donna della Scala, so touchingly noticed by Madame 
de Stael in her Corinna ; the repose of the holy fa- 
mily in Egypt, a soft picture of contentment and 
quiet, which delights the lover of peace and inno- 
cence ; and the deposition from the cross. 

But the Virgin of St. Jerome is his master-piece. 
She is holding the infant Saviour in her arms, against 
whom Mary Magdalen, in a kneeling posture, is 
gently resting her head whilst his little hand is lying 
upon it. On the left side St. Jerome is presenting a 
Scroll to an angel. His figure is well drawn and 
finely proportioned, and his countenance is strong, 
manly, and beaming with intelligence. But the 

PARMA. 333 

most striking part of the picture is the Magdalen. 
There is a tender and delicious sensation even in 
recalling her fading image. What a confiding hope 
does she manifest in that Being on whom she leans! 
You see in her, as it were, the faith of Simeon, when 
he took up the child, and the anticipation of that 
mercy of which he is to be the author and she the 
most illustrious example. How pensive, and sweet, 
and engaging is that face which borrows much of its 
loveliness from the expression, but which, in itself, 
is perhaps the most ravishing conception of beauty 
that was ever portrayed! The forehead open buj; 
not high, dark hazel eyes, thin but well turned eye- 
brows, the nose regular without prominence, the 
face somewhat round, and all the features rather 
small, but elegantly proportioned and combined; 
these circumstances may serve to keep up my own 
recollections of this angelic vision, but can make no 
adequate impression on another. Her hair, which is 
almost flaxen, is turned off carelessly from her fore- 
head and temple, and hangs loosely over her neck 
and bosom. The complexion is light and fair, but 
suffused with the most delicate flush. The body 5 
resting on one bended knee, and one foot just touch- 
ing the ground, is gracefully swayed towards our 
Lord, with a humility in which there is nothing ab- 
ject or timid. The feet, which are bare, as well as 
the ankle and arm, are of the most exquisite form^ 
and finished with the last degree of elegance. In the 
light yellow mantle which partly conceals her faint 
crimson dress, it seems as if the painter had dipped 

334 PARMA. 

his pencil in the hues of heaven, and given a soft 
celestial brightness to the garment of an earthly 
creature. A verdant landscape and a mild sky ap- 
pear in the back ground. Here we see the charac- 
teristic excellencies of Corregio's colouring ; that 
easy gradation of light and shade ; that blending of 
the tints where the figures are left so distinct, and 
yet the outline can scarcely be traced ; that delicacy 
in his touches which expresses the gentlest emotions 
with all the truth of nature, giving to modesty its 
own mysterious charm, to purity its elevation, to love 
its tenderness ; that harmony, in fine, which makes 
the illusion perfect, and, like the sweet notes of a 
Well trained choir, that melt into each other, pro- 
duce one general^ unbroken feeling of rapture and 



This city is neat, regular, and well built. The 
exchange, which takes up one side of the principal 
square, is a curious structure, in the Gothic style. 
In the front of it are two equestrian statues of Alex- 
ander and Rannuccio Farnese. The movement 
and animation of the horses have been much ad- 
mired, but the form of the animals appeared to me 
clumsy and inelegant. Here I saw a snuff-box with 
the likeness of Thomas Jefferson on the lid, exposed 
at the windows of one of the shops. 

The church of St. Augustin, by Vignola, is a 
beautiful piece of architecture. The front resem- 
bles that of St. George, at Venice, having the same 
faults, but juster proportions, and a greater degree of 
grandeur. The last circumstance is partly owing to 
the immense blocks of granite with which it is built. 
While the elegance of the exterior had provoked my 
curiosity to examine it within, (for the church be- 
longing to an order of monks that had been suppress- 
ed, was now converted to some secular use and shut 
up) two gentlemen were passing, of whom I inquired 
in what way it might be seen. They knew the person 
who kept the key, and politely offered to go with me 
to his house. He lived in a remote part of the town, 
and unluckily happened to be out when we called. 
The gentlemen who acted as my guides, when they 
learned that I was an American, indulged in the usual 

336* PLACENT1A. 

strain of compliment and congratulation on the free- 
dom and happiness of our country, and made the 
same inquiries after Bonaparte. Their civility be- 
came more warm and friendly, and they took so 
much interest in these topics that they did not leave 
me till they had accompanied me to my hotel. 

Since my departure from Rome, I had travelled 
nearly six hundred miles alone without the slight- 
est accident or alarm. My time was so completely 
occupied either in examining what was interesting 
in the cities, or in observing things on the road, that 
scarcely a vacant moment was left to remind me of 
my solitude. I rode either in a cabriolet with four 
wheels, or a light caleche with two; and though it 
was drawn only by one horse, yet, from the fre- 
quent rests and changes, it expeditious mode 
of travelling. In order likewise not to be retarded, 
I always made a special agreement, in hiring my 
carriage, to be taken alone. I had done so to-day, 
but just before setting out the voiturin came to re- 
quest a seat of me for a little child who was going 
to Pavia. The proposal was declined, and the mo- 
ney returned, which is usually given as a seal of the 
bargain. He was, however, very importunate, and I 
was very anxious to get on. The day was already so 
far advanced that there was no time for making a 
new arrangement, without running a risk of being 
overtaken by night. At length, therefore, I gave a 
reluctant assent to the plan, and satisfied the fellow's 
cupidity, who, after having bargained with me for 
the whole carriage, got the fare of another passen- 


ger. The driver passed through the city without 
stopping; but about a mile beyond the suburbs this 
little child appeared ahead of us, who, upon our 
nearer approach, turned out to be a full grown 

Being provoked at the deception, I resolved to get 
rid of my vehicle and companion at San Giovanni, 
which is one post from Placentia. On reaching this 
town I paid the driver, with a suppressed vexation, 
for the whole way, as there was no remedy to be got 
except by returning to the master, and taking post 
horses set out once more alone. 

The evening was fast approaching when we came 
to the Po. A great many were collected at the ferry, 
waiting the dilatory movement of the boats. One of 
the guards entered into conversation with me, who, 
after a little while, asked me, in the name of a gentle- 
man about to cross, whether he might be allowed 
to ride in my carriage, and send his own back. 
The accommodation of course would be mutual, as 
it would save him expense and lighten mine. I 
intimated this to the soldier, and gave my consent. 
The advocate and judge, for such was the respecta- 
ble personage who was now to be my fellow traveller, 
came up to me with salutations, and thanks for my 
Jrindness. As the ferry-master in his prices was 
bound by no law of the land, nor restrained by any 
principle of conscience, he demanded a sequin, or 
eleven francs for the passage. But the judge took 
upon himself the management of this business, and 
we paid but five. 



My companion proved to be a pleasant and in- 
telligent man, though with something smooth and 
fawning in his politeness. The shades of night were 
falling upon us before we got to Pavia, and I observ- 
ed that he frequently looked around with a search- 
ing and timid glance, not calculated to quiet the 
apprehensions of a stranger. But we arrived safely, 
and the comfort of a good meal and cheering fire 
would have driven from my mind some of the dis- 
agreeable incidents of the day, had not the postil- 
lion come in and demanded half as much again as 
was due to him. I had examined the tariff at the 
post-house in San Giovanni, that there might be no 
room for mistake nor altercation. But no ingenuity 
can avoid the imputation of the former, nor the oc- 
currence of the latter. The postillion insisted upon 
it, that instead of three common posts, we had come 
three posts royal. The judge favoured me with his 
legal opinion, and decided against me. It was a 
cheap award for him, for it appeared that he had not 
dreamed of bearing any part of the expense. I felt too 
much Contempt for him to ask it, and proud that we 
had no such judges in America. This day's journey, 
which did not exceed thirty miles, cost me fifty 



On the following morning the advocate, not feeling 
easy perhaps, without making some kind of acquit- 
tal, called at my lodgings, and offered to accompany 
me through the town. 

We visited the cathedral, a grotesque and heavy 
building, but which claims some distinction from the 
remains of St Augustin and Boethius, which are 
said to lie here. Such was the information we re- 
ceived from the sexton and one of the priests. As 
to St. Augustin, he died in the city of Hippo, from 
the fatigue and severities he endured in its long 
siege by the Vandals. May we not reasonably dis- 
trust the tradition, that his ashes were removed to 
Pavia ? They showed us the sarcophagus covered 
with the image of the saint, in his appropriate dress 
and mitre, but his body was afterwards taken out 
and deposited under the grand altar. The whole is 
probably a fable. 

Boethius, the poet, philosopher, and sage, the 
purest writer, the finest scholar, and most virtuous 
and illustrious man of the age in which he lived, 
having incurred the resentment of Theodoric, was 
long confined in the tower of Pavia, and finally beaten 
with clubs till he expired. His interment, therefore, 
in the cathedral, is not improbable. 

The university is an extensive range of buildings, 
with three large and handsome courts, and a double 



gallery running around them. The collection of 
metals and minerals fills several rooms, and is ad- 
mirably arranged. The cabinet of natural history is 
not as full and complete as I have seen elsewhere. 
Among the birds there was one with a sharp-pointed 
bone projecting from the joint of each wing, and 
another rising perpendicularly from the top of the 
head. The anatomical museum is exceedingly rare 
and interesting. In one room the several parts of the 
human frame are exhibited in their sound state; an- 
other is devoted to morbid anatomy, where they are 
seen under all the modifications of disease; a third to 
comparative anatomy, for displaying the various or- 
ganization of the brute creation. 

But it is with a stronger excitement than any 
thing in the city can produce, that we walk over 
the ground immediately without it, where the army 
of Francis I. was defeated by the imperialists with 
so much slaughter, and he himself was taken pri- 
soner. The battle commenced at the walls, south of 
the small river Ticino, on which Pavia is situated, 
and the king was captured near a church west of the 
road, while his right wing was attempting to cross 
the stream, and secure their safety by flight. In 
digging up the banks of the Ticino lately, to form 
a communication by means of a canal between 
this river and Milan, a great quantity of human 
bones were found. But will the lapse of time admit 
the supposition that they were the remains of those 
who fell in this battle ? There is no monument of the 
event, and while rambling over the peaceful and 

FAVIA. 341 

verdant plain which once resounded so harshly with 
" the grating shock of wrathful, iron arms," it is diffi- 
cult to figure to the mind this scene of tumult and 
blood, the furious onset of the French, the steady 
and desperate valour of their enemies, the confusion, 
cries, and carnage of the rout, the maddening feel- 
ings of the gallant king, and " all the currents of a 
heady fight." 

In the course of the day I rode out about thirteen 
miles from Pavia, to see the famous church delia 
Certosa, and the monastery of the Carthusians, to 
which it is attached. This was formerly the rich- 
est monastic establishment in Europe. The front of 
the church, though of fine marble, is neither hand- 
some nor correct. The ceiling is groined, and the 
columns are Gothic, though this order is not preserved 
throughout the building. The decorations of the 
chapels opening upon the side aisles, and of every 
part, are most laboured and elegant ; but with all their 
beauty and exuberance, the general appearance is 
solemn and venerable. 

On the left of the church there is a large cloister, 
with a fountain in the middle. This communicates 
with another square, each side of which is five hun- 
dred feet long. Three parts of this vast court are 
faced with the neat and commodious dwellings for- 
merly occupied by the monks. Each house was 
appropriated to a single person. The internal ar- 
rangement for a company would have been merely 
comfortable, but a spacious room covering the whole 
lower floor, a sitting room and chamber on the 

342 TAV1A, 

second, a cabinet for the library and study, a small 
spot set off with fruit trees and shrubbery, to employ 
and amuse such as had a taste for gardening; all 
these accommodations for ea< h individual of the es- 
tablishment, impress us with an extraordinary idea 
of its wealth and splendour, notwithstanding the de- 
sertion and neglect of every part since it was sup- 
pressed. The public garden behind is of immense 
extent. And the beautiful grounds which encompass 
the monastery take in a circuit of several miles. The 
lover of rural retirement might have found here ease, 
and elegance, and the highest enjoyment, but never 
was there a place more unsuitable for the severities 
and self-denial of an ascetic. 

Soon after leaving Pavia we rode by several rice 
plantations, where women were working nearly up to 
their knees in water. From the pernicious effects 
of this mode of cultivation, they are not allowed 
within a certain distance of any town or village. The 
country through which we were travelling abounded 
in the means of life and comfort, and yet about two 
years before, one of the company in the coach re- 
marked, that many had actually perished in this 
fertile region by famine. 

Passing through the porta Marengo, a monument 
erected by Bonaparte for the embellishment of 
the modern capital of Italy, we entered the city of 



June 4th. The most conspicuous object in this city 
is the cathedral, which is built of the purest white mar- 
ble. The slender buttresses, surmounted by Gothic 
pinnacles, and connected by flying arches with cor- 
responding pinnacles on the roof of the nave ; the high 
windows between them with light and airy mnllions; 
the traeery, the niches, the carved imagery and sta- 
tues on pedestals projecting from the walls; the small 
triangular pediments descending in rows from the 
point of the roof in front to the sides; the octagonal 
steeple rising in a vast mass above the church, and 
then suddenly breaking off in a tall spire that almost 
rivals in height the dome of St. Peter's, and yet so 
complicated, so open, so delicate in its structure, and 
fragile in its appearance, as to make you doubt in 
ascending it, the solidity of your footing, and the 
firmness of the supports around you; all these cir- 
cumstances render the cathedral of Milan one of the 
most curious and extraordinary works of human art. 
The decorations are lavish not only beyond descrip- 
tion but conception, and the endless details are finish- 
ed with such nicety, that we are as much astonished 
by the patient labour of those who built it, as by the 
wild fancy of those who planned it. But though this 
church is so ornamented, it is not a model of Gothic 
beauty, and though immense, it is not majestic. 
These observations are confined to the exterior. 

844 SIILAN. 

How differently are we impressed on entering it! 
With what feelings of veneration do we walk through 
the lengthened aisles, surveying the clustered pillars 
rising sublimely to the vaults; the groined eeiling 
harmonizing so finely with the pointed arches; the 
cupola soaring above, embellished with a fret- work 
as light and subtle to the eye as the spider's web ? 
and yet in no degree interfering with the solemn ef- 
fect of the rest ; the stained windows shedding through 
the building, " the dim religious light" which suits 
the temper of the thoughtful, and inspires the un- 
godly even with a transient sentiment of seriousness 
and devotion! 

I mounted the cupola by five hundred and twelve 
steps, but the wide plains around Milan, and the 
snow-capped Alps, could have been as well seen 
from the roof as the summit of the spire. Happening 
to be in the belfry immediately aside of the great 
bell which weighs twenty-five thousand pounds, 
when the clock struck twelve, I expected to have 
been stunned by the sound, but it was by no means 
as loud and painful as might have been appre- 

The small chapel, beneath the floor of the middle 
aisle, where the body of St. Charles Borromeo is de- 
posited, is about twelve feet square. The walls are 
inlaid with solid silver, and partially covered with 
tapestry of gold. The sarcophagus of the saint is of 
pure crystal. And as these things are seen by 
torches, they appear with a rich arid dazzling bright- 



The most interesting things at the Ambrosian li- 
brary are a manuscript of Virgil, beautifully written 
by Petrarch, with some remarks on Laura ; a second 
of Josephus, made of the papyrus, and copied, in 
the fifth century, by Rufinus, the antagonist of St. 
Jerome ; another of Cornelius Frontinus, of the third 
or fourth century; and fragments of Cicero and 
Plautus, which are said to be still more ancient. 

Some of them had been written over again cross- 
wise by the monks, so that it is difficult to make out 
the original, and, in certain parts, even to discern the 
faint traces of it. Enough, however, has been reco- 
vered to form a large octavo volume, which has been 
published, and is offered for sale to visitors. 

Towards evening I returned to the cathedral. 
The brightness of noonday does not find its way 
through the deep stained windows, except in a mild 
lustre which does not entirely dissipate the gloom of 
the place. When the sun has sunk it is twilight here. 
It is curious to watch the broken and partial illumi- 
nation of the building by the last rays of light, to 
contrast the rich hues of the painted glass with the 
aspiring columns sometimes brought faintly into 
view, and then almost concealed and lost; to observe 
the individuals, or groups, entering reverently for an 
act of secret homage to the Being whose eye can 
alone distinguish them in the darkness, and then re- 
turning with such light and cautious steps as scarcely 
to break in upon the general silence. While walking 
through it at this time the aisles seemed to be pro- 
longed, their arched vaults to tower still higher, the 




actual dimensions of this vast and empty space to be 
enlarged, and the pile to be what the help of the 
imagination alone can make it, so majestic as to 
amaze us, and so solemn as to displace every other 
feeling, to bow down the soul with religious awe, 
and constrain us to think of things unseen. 

June 5th. In the palace of the Viceroy, brother of 
the Emperor of Austria, there is nothing remarkable. 
A long succession of apartments, sumptuously but 
simply and sparingly furnished, and a retinue of a 
hundred officers and domestics, are the only distinc- 
tions of this princely establishment. The porter at 
the gate, with powdered hair, cocked hat, an epaulet 
on his shoulder, and a portly and gentlemanly air, 
looked more like an aged general than a menial ser- 

The villa of Belgiojoso, in the environs, is an ele- 
gant building. The wings, which stand out consi- 
derably from the front, are each adorned with four 
Corinthian pillars, a handsome entablature, and a 
graceful pediment with a has relief in the middle. 
The columns of the centre, where there is a slight 
projection, are of the composite order, as well as the 
pilasters on each side. A handsome balustrade, sur- 
mounted with statues, runs over the whole front till 
it meets with the wings, where it starts off at right 
angles, and continues along their inner side. The 
purity, the correctness, and fine proportions of this 
edifice would be more pleasing were the materials 
more excellent and durable. But perishable stucco 
degrades the beautiful design. The grounds about 

Ml LAN. 347 

she palace, though not extensive, are laid out with 
rural taste in shady and winding walks, intersected 
by a running stream, and adorned with a circular 
temple, a coffee-house, and an artificial grotto. 

The observatory belonging to the royal palace of 
arts and sciences is well supplied with all kinds of 
astronomical instruments for observations on the 
heavens. The view from it, of this lower world, is 
also sublime; for here Alps piled on Alps rise up in 
tremendous majesty, and the radiant summit of 
Monte Rosa is almost lost in the clouds which it re- 
sembles. The botanical garden chiefly consists of 
exotic plants. 

In the collection of pictures there are several fine 
pieces of the Flemish and Italian schools. The last 
supper of Rubens is full of life and expression. The 
delineation of the more prominent personages is very 
successful. John is the mild and engaging disciple, 
worthy of the love and confidence which his Master 
showed for him in leaning on his bosom. Peter, 
eager and forward, appears in all the vehemence of 
his character. The countenance of Judas is as dark 
as his purpose; the fierceness of his eye suits the 
deed he is meditating; and the involuntary act of 
biting his finger betrays the gloomy fury of his soul. 
The faces are all Flemish, a cast of countenance 
which has little affinity with the peculiarities of the 

The dispute of St. Peter and St. Paul, by Guido 
Reni, is, perhaps, the best picture in the gallery. 
Si. Peter is sitting and leaning on one hand, but 

£48 MILAN. 

with eyes uplifted and an air of the deepest attention 
mingled with dissatisfaction. St. Paul is standing 
with a book in one hand and the other slightly raised 
and opened, and leaning towards him in the very at- 
titude of one who is confident of his cause, but who, 
at the same time, wishes to persuade and convince. 
The execution is as masterly as the design. In the 
heads there are the strong lines of character and 
thought which we look for, in the most impetuous 
and most learned of the apostles. 

The four principal chambers are grand and spa- 
cious. The light being admitted from above, not 
only shows the paintings to greater advantage, but 
increases the splendour and elegance of the gallery. 

The great staircase of the palace, planned by Ri- 
chini, and the one hundred and twelve granite 
columns of the portico, correspond with the liberality 
and magnificence of the whole establishment. 

While passing through the mint and examining 
the process of making money, 1 found out the way 
of losing it, for it was necessary to put my hand in 
my pocket at every step. They showed me the 
manner, both by experiment and explanation, of ex- 
tracting the different metals from the ore, of purifying 
them from dross, of separating the quicksilver from 
the silver, of getting the particles from the dust, of 
moulding the metal into bars, of rounding, flattening, 
and extending them, of forming the coin, stamping 
the edge, and impressing the face. The process, for 
the most part, was simple and intelligible. I had to 
fee eight different persons in this single visit. 

MILAN. 34$ 

In the course of the day I inquired at a store where 
they sold pictures and antiques, for a small specimen 
of basso relievo, observing, that it would be a curi- 
osity in America. The remark diverted the shop- 
keeper from the sale of his goods He broke out 
into an animated eulogium of our country, and lis- 
tened with an inquisitive eagerness to every thing 
that was said of it. Then comparing our prosperity 
and freedom with their poverty and humiliation, his 
countenance fell, his voice changed, and he seemed 
to be oppressed by feelings which he could not re- 
frain from betraying to a stranger. " Commerce," 
said he, " is perishing — Italy now hangs down her 
head — if a boy sings too loud in the streets he is im- 
prisoned — and a domination which we abhor we are 
still obliged to respect and obey. America," he 
added, " is the common subject of conversation at 
the coffee-houses." 

My banker, with whom I was conversing about the 
condition of the people in the United States, told me 
that all classes paid taxes here to the amount of one 
third of their income. 

A merchant, deploring the languor and extinction 
of trade, and the exclusion of British goods by the 
Austrians, showed me the picture of a man that it 
was not permitted to sell, and observed, that almost 
all Italy, as well as France, wished for his return. 

In the evening I made another visit to the cathe- 
dral, at a later hour. The only light was from some 
unstained windows towards the western end of the 
church. The effect of this across the aisles, and 

350 MILAN. 

upon the pillars and ribs of the vaulted arches, con- 
trasted well with the increasing darkness of the 
eastern end, and the deep and solemn gloom around 
the principal altar, which was made more palpable 
by the faint glimmering of a few lights at two or 
three side altars, and the solitary lamp over the tomb 
of St. Charles Borromeo. The deep and death-like 
silence that reigns throughout, interrupted occasion- 
ally only by a few persons who are coming in to 
their evening devotions, goes to the very soul. This 
double influence of the senses and imagination, as- 
sisted by the grandeur of the edifice, which is so sur- 
prisingly magnified by obscurity, render the cathe- 
dral of Milan, at sudft times, more sublime and im- 
pressive than St. Peter's itself. 

Bonaparte, having intended to make this city the 
capital of Italy, had begun to embellish it with great 
care and expense. The porta Marengo is a kind of 
open portico, divided into three passages by four no- 
ble columns and pilasters of the Ionic order, with a 
simple, entablature and pediment. The ceiling is 
vaulted in a transversal direction. The porta Nova 
is more highly decorated, and is rather to be admired 
for grace than grandeur. 

The new amphitheatre, built for horse, foot, and 
chariot races, and for sea fights, might be considered 
a great and striking work, were it not surpassed so 
much by the majestic ruins of antiquity. 

The triumphal arch of Bonaparte, which was in- 
tended to rival the elegance of the most boasted 
arches of former timeSj and to perpetuate the recol- 

MILAN. 351 

lection of his achievements and glory, is just so far 
raised as to justify, in a degree, the loftiness of its 
pretensions, and to give us some idea of its promised 
magnificence. The beautiful materials, the basso 
relievos, representing the triumphal entry of Napo- 
leon into Milan, the governor delivering him the 
key, and his incoronation, and the multitude of 
sculptured ornaments necessary to complete the 
arch, were all prepared, and are now lying in the 
adjoining shops. The work stopped with his victo- 
rious career, and must rest and perish with the au- 

These, with many other useful and ornamental 
improvements, are owing to the pride and liberality 
of the conqueror, whose inroads were marked with 
devastation, but whose very ambition and selfishness 
lead him to adorn and enrich what he had rapaci- 
ously acquired. 

My visit to the gallery of Count Lechi, lately a 
general in the army of Bonaparte, was preceded by 
an unusual formality. It was necessary to announce 
my name and country. The collection is more se- 
lect than extensive. Some of the paintings ap- 
peared to be masterly, particularly the rustic ban- 
quet by Teniers, the Magdalen of Titian, the por- 
trait of Francesco, by the same, two likenesses by 
Lotto, and an inimitable piece of John the Baptist, 
by Moron e. 

A picture on the ceiling, by Paul Veronese, from 
which the bashful modesty of a delicate female; 
among m would have turned aside s attracted the 



particular and passionate admiration of a Milanese 
lady present. I happened to be looking at it at the 
same time, when suddenly taking her eyes from it, 
she said to me with a kind of transport, " I am never 
wearied, Sir, in gazing on that picture." Two Eng- 
lish ladies who were in her company, had not yet 
attained enough of foreign feelings, to give it any 
thing more than a passing glance. 

I had been but a few minutes in the gallery, when 
a person of elegant appearance and manners entered, 
and the servant who had at first accompanied me, 
immediately left the room. The exchange occasion- 
ed no surprise, and it was my impression that this 
new attendant was the principal domestic. But he 
made some excuse for not having come up sooner, 
apologized every time he left me to wait on a 
party of ladies in the adjoining rooms, conversed with 
them with an easy familiarity, and occasionally made 
observations to me on the United States. At length 
I began to suspect that the person who was my 
guide, jnstead of being one of the household, must 
be the count himself. He had made so many ex- 
planations, and been so assiduous and polite in his 
attention for two hours together, that this suspicion 
greatly embarrassed me. If he were only the chief 
servant, it would be proper to make him an extraor- 
dinary present, but if he were the master, what a 
proof of stupidity in me, and whaf an insult to him 
to offer it ! When we went down stairs, whilst he at- 
tended the ladies to the door, I seized that opportu- 
nity to make some inquiry of the servant. Having 

MILAN* 353 

ascertained that it was the count, I mustered up the 
courtliest terms in our republican vocabulary, to ex- 
press my sense of the honour he had done me. He 
received my acknowledgments with as much modesty 
as urbanity. This unusual instance of courtesy was 
probably shown to me, not merely on account of my 
being a stranger, but an American. 

June 7th. This morning we went to hear some 
music at the church of St. Mary. The voices of the 
singers were accompanied with two bass-viols and 
two organs. The concert continued with animation 
and spirit for nearly two hours. There was a great 
deal of grace and execution, but much less than 
common of that soft melancholy and melting sweet- 
ness which distinguish the best performances in 

We remained also to hear the sermon. The Ita- 
lian preachers in general are too uniformly loud, and 
though impassioned, are seldom tender and pathetic. 
Accordingly we never observed in their hearers much 
sensibility or emotion. This may sometimes be as- 
cribed to the injudicious choice of their topics. I do 
not recollect a more ludicrous instance of it than in 
the subject of this morning's discourse. The object 
of the preacher was to celebrate the power and com- 
passion of the Virgin, in the signal deliverance of a 
devout person from the most alarming danger. Two 
young men who had been smitten with the charms 
of a lovely and spotless creature, had spread snares 
for her innocence. Weak and defenceless, the trem- 
bling victim cried to the Queen of Heaven for suc- 


364 MILAN. 

cour. At that very moment the Virgin immediately 
appeared in a vision to the young men, frightened 
them from their purpose, and achieved the triumph 
of virtue. 

Over the altar of the Virgin, there was a picture of 
the young woman kneeling to her in prayer, and as 
this was the day for commemorating the marvellous 
event, many worshippers around it were offering up 
to the protectress of innocence, their special and 
grateful homage. 

They were celebrating mass here in two different 
parts of the church at the same time, and as soon as 
they had concluded, it was begun again at two other 
altars. This produces confusion, and destroys, in 
some measure, the solemnity of the service. But 
neither the noise occasioned by this constant fluctua- 
tion of worshippers ; nor the curiosity of strangers who 
are passing and repassing continually, to examine 
the building or paintings; nor the handing of chairs 
to those who are about to seat themselves for the 
sermon; nor the voice of the priests or people who 
are around some neighbouring altar, appears to dis- 
turb those who are at their devotions. Each indivi- 
dual and each group exercises a power of abstraction, 
that implies either a very extraordinary control over 
their deportment, or a complete occupation of the 
mind in the work before them. I have sometimes 
observed lightness and wandering, but not so often 
as to affect materially these general remarks. 

It is difficult to determine how far mere ritual ob- 
servances, to which great importance is attached from 

MILAN. 855 

notions of merit, may influence their behaviour in 
prayer ; but this fixed and exclusive attention looks 
as if it might come from the heart. And though 
their adoration is sometimes directed to improper ob- 
jects, though it is grounded on false notions and at- 
tended with superstitious circumstances which lessen 
its value, admitting its sincerity, yet the appearance 
of so much reverence, fervour, and elevation, has 
always seemed to me imposing, and worthy of our 
imitation. With juster and more enlightened views 
of God, the great object of adoration, and Jesus 
Christ, the only mediator; with a pure and incorrupt 
system, and a liturgy so calculated to assist us in the 
expression of our pious feelings, and to lift the soul 
to Heaven; we ought in a special manner to worship 
God in spirit and in truth, and to carry the marks of 
it in our whole outward deportment. We ought 
to appear withdrawn from the world, penetrated 
with the affecting solemnities of the place, wrapt 
in a devotion which nothing could disturb, because 
nothing is so important as the objects with which it 
is occupied. In the externals of religion at least, we 
might very often profit by the example of those whom 
we believe in the grossest error. These appearances, 
indeed, are worth nothing unless they are the actual 
indications of the religious temper of the heart, yet 
they are undoubtedly decent and becoming, and are 
the natural accompaniments of sincere and deep de- 

With all the absurdity and pageantry of the Roman 
Catholics, there are some other things also among 

356 MILAN. 

them which" appear to me interesting and impressive. 
The churches in general are open throughout the year, 
from the dawn till the close of day. In every cathedral 
there are at least two services, and very often likewise 
in the parish churches. Indeed a third is by no means 
uncommon. And on these occasions it is not merely 
the Chapter who assemble to perform a prescribed 
duty, or a parochial priest with his assistants, but a 
considerable number of worshippers, and frequently 
a large congregation. In the smaller towns and vil- 
lages it is usual for the husbandman before he goetfi 
forth to his labour, to attend the sacrifice of the mass. 
And after the toils of the day are over, you will some- 
times find them pressing in crowds to the Benedizione, 
or to an evening service, so called perhaps because 
they are dismissed with the final benediction. In 
the intervals of the stated offices, individuals, as 
they are prompted by a gratitude that longs to un- 
burden itself, or by a sorrow that seeks for comfort, 
or a troubled conscience that wants appeasing, or a 
superstitious scrupulousness that places duty in mul- 
tiplying religious observances, are constantly enter- 
ing the churches to offer up their private devotions. 
Each one comes in and goes out with silence, and as 
if he were the only worshipper in the temple. No 
man seems to notice his neighbour, and whatever 
merit they may think their secret oblations will give 
them in the sight of God, they are not presented in 
such a way as to manifest any desire for the praise 
of men. There are certainly as many who come 
for this purpose at twilight, and a little later, when 

MILAN. 357 

the obscurity of the building confounds the features of 
the friend and stranger, as at any other hour. I have 
never been so much impressed by this devout prac- 
tice as at such times, when the glimmering from some 
altar has partially shown these solitary worshippers, 
or scattered groups prostrate and in silence ; or when 
through the gloom I have discerned their dim and 
shadowy forms flitting before me ; or when I would 
have scarcely known that I was not alone, but for the 
sound of some reverent step now and then interrupt- 
ing the profound stillness. 

The dresses of the three officiating priests at the 
principal altar to-day were rich and splendid. A loose 
mantle, open at the sides, called a cope, which was 
of white silk or satin embroidered with gold, was 
thrown over a long white surplice. At Loretto the 
copes of the priests appeared to be one tissue of gold. 
The former were neat and elegant, and the latter 
sumptuous rather than gaudy. 

The ecclesiastics of rank, when not officiating at the 
altar, are dressed in a black cassock, over which 
there is a kind of white demi-surplice, and over that 
again a scarlet or purple mantle with a hood hang- 
ing on the back, and a train gathered up in a fold 
which nearly touches the ground. The hair is gene- 
rally powdered and curled, and the top of the head 
covered with a circular piece of scarlet cloth. The 
priests of inferior rank are without the mantle and 
without powder. Their crown is also shorn, but 
covered with a round piece of black cloth. Some of 
the clergy wear square black or purple caps, which 

358 MILAN. 

are taken off in certain parts of the service. The 
young men intended for the ministry are simplv habit- 
ed in a purple cassock. Many slight particulars and 
minute variations, from not having been noted down, 
are now forgotten. The Chapter, which usually con- 
sists of from thirty to a hundred priests, sit in stalls 
around the recess behind the grand altar, and a great 
number of candidates in the intermediate space. 

The service, when they are neither chanting nor 
playing on the organ, is performed in a kind of recita- 
tive. One part is frequently begun before the other 
is ended. Sometimes it is in regular response, and 
sometimes with united voices. As the chant, how- 
ever, is generally mingled with this service, and oc- 
casionally the melody of the choir, the effect is al- 
most always solemn and striking. 

The priests appear abroad in a long black cassock, 
buttoned before, or in the full dress of a clergyman, 
■with the addition of a cocked hat, and a black silk 
scarf hanging from the collar of the coat and reach- 
ing down behind to their feet. The latter is becom- 
ing and* graceful. 

The Dominicans dress in a white gown and cas- 
sock. The fraternity of the Camaldolese are clothed 
in a gray mantle covering the whole body and head, 
excepting small holes for the eyes. Their appear- 
ance is frightful, and it was my impression, on first 
seeing this habit, that it was a piece of frolicksome 
masquerade. The mendicant friars have a brown 
cassock, fastened with a girdle. The dignitaries of 
the church wear purple stockings. The scarlet hat, 

MILAN. ' 359 

with a rounded crown and broad brim, is the distin- 
guishing badge of the cardinals. When they ride out 
their equipage is gay and pompous, and when they 
walk they are followed by a servant. I have seen 
them in getting out of their carriages, affecting the 
most ridiculous effeminacy, and leaning on the arms 
of their attendants as if they had not strength enough 
to support themselves. The coach of the Archbi- 
shop of Naples is preceded and surrounded by do- 
mestics, who move on with it in a slow and stately 

The clergy are innumerable, and in every part of 
Italy they must form a very considerable portion of 
the population. We hear such accounts of the mo- 
rals of many among them as would, perhaps, be 
given of the sacred order, by the same kind of inform- 
ants, in countries where their manners are compara- 
tively pure and unblameable. That there are irregu- 
larities, especially among some of the higher rank, 
cannot well be doubted ; but there is reason to believe 
that they are greatly exaggerated. The Romish 
priests are certainly much devoted to the publics 
functions of their office. They visit their parishion- 
ers in sickness and sorrow, but seldom in health and 
joy. I was acquainted with some of them, and 
learned a little incidentally of many. They are, in 
general, easy and courteous in their manners; and if 
at any time a stranger is in want of information, he 
should not hesitate to stop an ecclesiastic in the 
streets, nor to ask him in the churches, for this is al- 
ways the readiest way to get it; and though he fail 

360 • MILAN* 

in the object of his inquiry, he may be sure, at least, 
of a kind and gentle answer. 

In the church of St. Anthony the principal objects 
that arrested my attention, were two marble tables 
filled with a catalogue of the sacred relicks deposited 
here. Some of them are as follows : — 

" de ligno S. Cruris, 

H de veste Christi, 

" • • • • • S. Joannis Baptistse, 

" * * • • • S. Pauli Apostoli, 

" de sang? mirac 80 D. N. I. C. 

" de velo B. Mariae Virg." 
The church del Salvatore, at Bologna, furnishes a 
still more extraordinary and copious account of the 
relicks with which that sanctuary is honoured In 
St. Peter's, at Rome, the foot of a bronze statue of 
the apostle is actually polished, and considerably 
worn, by the touches and kisses of the multitudes who 
thus express their respect for the person whom it re- 
presents. This was the ancient statue of Jupiter, 
which was decapitated and converted into an apos- 
tle, by the addition of a new and consecrated head. 

At Tivoli, under a picture and image of the Vir- 
gin, an indulgence is held out for every act of devo- 
tion to her; and remission from the pains of purga- 
tory for two hundred days, is promised to all who 
will kiss the cross which stands in the centre of the 

From St. Anthony's I went to the ancient and ve- 
nerable church of St. Ambrose. His ashes lie under 
one of the altars. How interesting are such associ- 

SIILAff. 361 

ations ! But this is not all. It was probably at the 
porch of this very temple that St. Ambrose, invest- 
ed only with spiritual power, had the courage to 
repel Theodosius, after the massacre of Thessalo- 
nica. Here, having undergone a severe penance 
for eight months, the emperor appeared in the hum- 
ble attitude of a suppliant, and, stripped of the 
purple, he begged of a subject reconciliation to the 
Church and to God. 

Three or four hundred young persons were now 
assembled with a number of the priests and people, 
who were giving them religious instruction. It was 
the first time that I had seen laymen and women as* 
sisting in this work. The children were afterwards 
addressed by one of the clergy from the pulpit. Cur- 
tains were drawn around certain parts, as if to guard 
against the obtrusive curiosity of visitors. In another 
church, to-day, where they were also catechising the 
young, a priest mentioned to me that it was not usual 
for strangers to remain during these exercises. A si- 
milar intimation was given in St. Charles's, at Rome. 

They seem to lay great stress upon this foundation 
of Christian knowledge, and they prosecute the im- 
portant labour with a zeal which is inflamed by suc- 
cess. I have never seen, among Protestants, such 
earnestness and animation in the teachers and learn- 
ers. The numbers of both too are extraordinarily 
large, and many of the catechumens are flfteen or 
sixteen years old. 

In the refectory of the Dominican convent of Santa 
Maria delle gratie, I saw the famous picture of the 


362 MILAN. 

Last Supper, by Leonardo da Vinci. It has suffered, 
at alt times, from the dampness of the place, and, 
recently, from the abuse of the Austrian prisoners, 
who were confined in this apartment, so that the 
figures of some of the apostles are almost entirely 
lost, and all are faint and imperfect. In the few that 
remain the colours are pealing off, and no efforts of 
human art can much longer keep them from perish- 
ing. It was painted in oil, and this misfortune is in 
a great measure owing to the walls not having been 
properly prepared. A fresco painting of an anterior 
date, at the other extremity of the room, is but little 

The face of our Saviour is tolerably well preserved. 
There is a great deal of mildness and sweetness in 
it, with a certain degree of dignity, and a shade of 
melancholy. Leonardo proceeded very slowly in 
this work, as well from the dignity and importance 
of the subject in general, as from the difficulty hd 
found in representing the glorious person of our 
Lord, and the vile and flagitious character of his be- 
trayer. He spent two years in searching, among the 
most profligate of mankind^ for the face of Judas, 
without success. The Prior of the convent being 
displeased with this delay, went and complained t& 
the Duke of Milan. His patron, however, was satis* 
fied with the manner in which he accounted for it. 
But upon a repetition of the Prior's complaints, tbfc 
Duke, thinking that there was now some ground for 
them, reprimanded Leonardo with more severity. 
He replied, " that nothing was wanting to cemfriet* 


$he picture but the heads of our SaviouT and Judas, 
and that, with respect to the latter, the difficulty was 
now at length removed, since he had nothing to do 
but to introduce the head of the Prior, whose base 
return for all his trouble had rendered him a fit ar« 
chetype of the perfidy and ingratitude he wished to 
express. And some have said that the head of Ju- 
das in the picture was actually copied from that of 
the Prior."* He certainly has made it as malignant, 
fierce, and gloomy, as skill or revenge could desire. 

We should regret more deeply the hasty and final 
destruction which awaits this relick, were it not in 
some measure restored by the happy imitations of 
other artists. Several copies of it were taken by the 
pupils of Leonardo, and persons immediately suc- 
ceeding them, before it had suffered any material in- 
jury. Some of these were remarkably correct and 
beautiful. The one in the Certosa dt Pavia, painted 
on the wall by Marco d'Oggiono, a scholar of Leo- 
nardo, was removed before my visit to that monas- 
tery. A second, on a smaller scale, in the Ambrosial! 
Library, escaped my notice. Ten or eleven others 
are scattered throughout France and Italy. 

I saw none but the splendid copy in mosaic, just 
completed, by Giacomo Raffaeli. It is wrought on 
twelve large blocks of stone laid together, and corre- 
sponding in dimensions with the original, which is 
fourteen and a half feet in height, and twenty-nine 
in breadth. This magnificent work cost the artist 

* See Haw&ins's Life of Leonardo da Vine;. 

$64 MILAN. 

eight years labour. But the faded remains whose 
beauties it was intended to revive and perpetuate, 
though tarnished, frail, and fleeting, surpass in inte- 
rest the freshness and glow of the copy, and, apart 
from the associations which heighten it, are actually 
more beautiful and engaging. 

The people of Milan, however, were glorying in 
this imperfect memorial of what they had so much 
prized, when the emperor of Austria signified his in- 
tention of speedily removing it to adorn his capital 
of Vienna. 

The engraving of Morghen, though much admir- 
ed, falls very far short of the original. 

This master-piece of Leonardo da Vinci was 
finished about the year 1500, and nearly two centu- 
ries after, the fraternity to whom it belonged gave 
proofs of a grossness and ignorance that would have 
hardly been looked for in a darker age. They cut a 
door through the wall on which the Supper is painted, 
and took away the lower part of the figure of our 
Saviour, and the feet of some of the apostles. 

June 8th. The few days passed in this interest- 
ing city were among the most delightful in my 
whole journey, and perhaps they were enjoyed the 
more from the necessity I felt of hurrying away from 
it. My passport had been signed in season for my 
departure, as neglect may, sometimes, occasion a 
very inconvenient delay. It is generally a tedious 
business, but here it was more troublesome than 
common. I had first to go to the police, then to the 
health-office, then to the consul of Sardinia, and, 
6nally, to the consul of Switzerland. 


My lodgings in Milan were at Reichman's Swiss 
and German hotel. The civility and attention of 
the landlord and the whole household were so pecu- 
liar, that it seemed as if 1 were in the family of an 
old acquaintance, who, on this score, was lavish of 
his kindness, rather than with a stranger and a pub- 


In the course of my narrative but few general re* 
marks have been made on the Italian character, be- 
cause, from my short residence in the country, I did 
not think myself qualified for so nice and difficult a 
task. Individual traits have been noticed as they 
appeared, and all the incidents which might illustrate 
it as they occurred. But they have not been suffi- 
ciently numerous to authorize, in many cases, any 
very positive inferences. We must have been long 
among a people, admitted cordially into their society, 
acquainted intimately with their language, and pre- 
pared by habits of accurate observation, before we 
can give a just view of their character. Few strangers 
can pronounce decisively upon it without presump- 
tion. This applies, in an especial manner, to Italy. 
The country is too much impoverished to permit the 
richest to be very hospitable. From the peculiarity 
of some of their customs — from their rooted attach- 


ment to the Romish religion-^the proud recollec- 
tions of past glory — ^and the exasperation produced 
by recent injury and oppression, visitors from several 
nations are apt to meet with coldness and reserve. 
The Austrians are abhorred for their tyrannical ex* 
actions, and for the sordid parsimony which hoards up 
the fruits of their rapacity. The French are disliked 
by many for their rivalry and vanity, and for mani- 
fold evils too fresh to be forgotten. The English, 
by their religion, their gravity, the severity of their 
©pinions upon certain points, and the difference in 
the whole cast of their habits and manners, have still 
less affinity with the Italians. Any of these, who are 
properly introduced, may be well received, though, 
perhaps, with less cordiality than in any other nation 
in Europe. The American, except in the Neapo- 
litan kingdom, finds predilection instead of prejudice, 
but yet he is peculiarly circumstanced. We have 
scarcely any connexions with this people. Those 
that exist have arisen almost entirely out of a very 
inconsiderable trade, and are confined to a few com- 
mercial ports. We have no privileged orders among 
us who can procure us admission into the best society 
here ; and though, from accidental intimacies, or from 
letters obtained abroad, individuals may sometimes 
be enabled to associate with the nobility and gentry, 
yet I never heard of many of our countrymen who 
had enjoyed this advantage. As to myself, I had 
fewer letters for Italy than any where else, and these 
were chiefly to Americans and Englishmen residing 
in the country. Some, received here and in France, 


were the principal means of giving me a nearer view 
of the domestic |ife of the Italians. I was fortunate 
enough also, from the casual acquaintances of my 
journey, to be furnished with opportunities of en- 
larging my observations, and of making up my 
opinions with greater accuracy; but they are still 
very limited and imperfect. 

The Italians, with the exception of some in the 
lowest walks of society, are a kind-hearted and af- 
fectionate people. We discover this in their general 
air and manner, in the little courtesies of life, in the 
endearing nature of their salutations to each other, 
and in the warm attachment arising, very often, out 
of incidental and transient intimacies. A friend, in 
meeting another, addresses him with " Caw. caro," 
a term, appropriated, among us, to those alone who 
stand in the tenderest relations to us. If he is visit- 
ing a villa, and finds at the gate the porter's wife, op 
asks a question of any woman in the streets, he al- 
ways prefaces it with " Sposa, sposa" an appellative 
which is not peculiarly significant in itself, but 
which impresses a stranger pleasantly by the soft- 
ness of the sound and the familiar regard with which 
it is spoken. If he introduces you to his family or 
friends, it is with such extravagant expressions of 
kindness as would make you uneasy were you not 
soon put at ease by as kind a reception. If he parts 
with you for a time, he kisses you on both cheeks, 
With many an addio; or if he receives you after any 
absence, there is the same token of regard, with the 
most hearty greetings. Even at a coffee-house where 


you are well known, on your return from a journey, 
the servants will accost you with a smile, and " ben 

How much of all this is felt it is difficult to say, 
but it is accompanied with such an appearance of 
openness and sincerity as induced me to give them 
credit for a good degree of it, and to believe them a 
kind and amiable people. 

This is likewise shown in their general urbanity 
towards strangers, and in the many obliging offices 
which they are disposed to render to ihem. They 
do not, as was before remarked, indulge in an ex- 
pensive hospitality. They are sparing of their mo- 
ney, but not of their time and trouble. 

The state of morals, from all that I could learn, is 
deplorable. The licensed gallantry in the married 
state among the upper classes, furnishes a fearful con- 
jecture of their corruption in other points; for how 
can the social or domestic virtues be cherished 
where the practice of the highest brings no honour, 
nor the violation of it any reproach ? Home has not 
our ties. It is not so much respected and endeared, 
and accordingly there never was perhaps any peo- 
ple who lived so much away from it. The promen- 
ades, the coffee-houses, the restaurats, and all public 
places are filled with them. 

The people of the lower classes appeared to mc 
almost uniformly deceitful and dishonest. An ex- 
ception is a prodigy. The persons with whom a 
traveller has most to deal, are not indeed a fair speci- 
men of the morals of any country. But we were 


occasionally brought into contact with others not 
comprehended under this description, and there 
seemed to be a settled design among all to impose 
on the ignorant, and to circumvent the cunning and 
informed. Perpetual vigilance, and the nicest pre- 
cautions, are the only security against perpetual 
plunder. And sometimes in resisting the fraudulent 
exactions of the more vulgar, our firmness is nearly 
subdued by their fierceness, brutality, and clamour. 
I have trembled at the malignant grin and scowl 
on these occasions, and almost feared a deadly 

Much of this inconvenience, which is the greatest 
drawback on our pleasure in this delightful country, 
may be avoided by settling the price of every thing, 
however trifling, beforehand, and by acting in all 
cases when you are satisfied that you are right, with 
determination, and, at the same time, with modera- 
tion and prudence. 

The Italians have les& gaiety and vivacity than 
the French, but more good nature, more uniform 
cheerfulness, and greater equanimity of temper. 
They will become earnest and warm in conversation, 
and so rapid, vociferous, and varied in the intonations 
of their voice, that those who are unacquainted with 
them would imagine that a storm was gathering, 
when perhaps no other emotion is felt than a lively 
interest in the subject under discussion. But they 
do not, like the latter, under real provocation, kindle 
in a moment, and burst out into such uncontrollable 
transports of passion. 



They have been generally accused of indolence, 
but it is not so much from their love of inactivity, as 
from their having so little to do The poor univer- 
sally, and even the lazzaroni at Naples, are all 
anxious for employment, and the eager competition 
and scrambling for it, is one of the constant vexations 
of the traveller. 

This hasty sketch is faint and unfinished, but as 
correct as my brief observations would enable me to 
snake it. 


June 9th. When I arose this morning about four 
o'clock the landlord had risen also, who told me that 
it was his established custom to be up at the depar- 
ture of any of his guests, at whatever hour it might 
chance to be. There had been a regular charge in 
the bill, which was paid the night before, for the at- 
tendance of the servants, so that not one of this pes- 
tilent swarm appeared. Since my landing in Europe 
I had scarcely left an inn with so much quiet and 

I set out with a Swiss in a private carriage of so 
singular a form as to draw upon us universal notice, 
and the laughter and shouts of all the boys in the 
towns and villages through which we passed. It is 


called a car-a-banc. The body is like that of a gig, 
but much wider, and the part which is usually front, 
instead of being towards the horses, is at the sides 
between the wheels. It hangs very low, and when 
going slowly we could get out and in without stop- 
ping the horses. As uncouth therefore as the car-a- 
banc appears, it is the most convenient of all vehicles 
for the picturesque passage of the Alps, where we 
are not satisfied very often with a passing glance of 
the objects around us, but wish to stop every few 
minutes for a fuller view, and then to relieve our- 
selves from fatigue by taking our places again. 

The country through which we were travelling, till 
*ve came to Buon Giesu, was well watered with small 
streams, and abounded in rich fields of wheat, and 
vineyards waving in festoons, or formed into bowers. 
Before a burying-ground that we passed, there was 
this inscription over the entrance, Blessed are the 
dead who die in the Lord. At another on the way to 
Pavia, I recollect a passage from the Proverbs, The 
rich and the poor meet together. These mementos 
are hardly necessary to remind us, at the gate of death, 
of the vanity of all worldly distinctions, or that those 
only who sleep in Jesus will rise with him in glory. 
But under the impression of some recent stroke, or 
in some more thoughtful mood, when we are dis- 
posed to profit by the slightest hints, these familiar 
admonitions may catch attention, and lead the mind 
to humbling and salutary reflections. 

As we proceeded towards Sesto we found the same 
exuberant soiL, and the same industrious cultivation; 


and the mountains becoming more striking from 
their vicinity, were at this moment particularly so, 
from the bright clouds attracted to them, and resting 
on their whitened summits. Just before we came to 
this town, there was a great change in the face of 
the country. Vegetation was much less advanced, 
and the prospect more wild and varied. The pure 
waters of the Ticino rolled along at our feet with a 
refreshing beauty. The banks were higher than com- 
mon, and bordered in some parts with shrubs, and 
in others darkened with the broad spreading shade of 
lofty trees. 

At Sesto we left the Austrian dominions, and, 
crossing the Ticino, entered into Piedmont. Here, 
for the first time in Italy, the officer of the customs 
refused to accept a gratification, which it had become 
almost a matter of course to make, wherever my bag- 
gage was to be examined. He appeared to be a 
very conscientious man, and in the scrupulous dis- 
charge of his duty he detained us some time. During 
this delay I entered into conversation with him, and 
found him inquisitive about America, and communi- 
cative with respect to his own country. He men- 
tioned, among other things, a circumstance which 
would seem almost incredible in a region so abun- 
dant. In 1816 or 1817 he said that one tenth of the 
people had died of famine here, and that they had 
even eaten the leaves of the fig trees, and the grass 
of the fields. 



We reached the sweet and peaceful borders of the 
Lago Maggiore, and put up towards evening at the 
small city of Arcna, which was the birth-place of 
St.. Charles Borromeo. The ruins of his castle are 
at a short distance from the town. They consist of 
several large bastions overrun with weeds and grass, 
falling walls, and shapeless masses of stone which 
cover the top of a lofty rock. Between the face of 
this precipice and the lake, there is just room for the 
road and a narrow shelving shore. From the ruins 
above there is one of the most enrapturing sights i 
ever beheld. At the extremity, towards the south and 
east, the lake is bounded by a luxuriant plain, which 
is beautifully diversified by vineyards, wheat-fields, 
and meadow lands, interspersed with orchards and 
forest trees; and this plain is gradually lost in the 
easy swell of the hills beyond it. Villas, towns, and 
churches, are scattered over the low grounds, and on 
the heights, through the whole of the wide country 
encircling the lake. Just before me there was a 
castle defended by walls and towers, standing on a 
point projecting into the basin, and beneath it a small 
town. To the north, the Alps, sweeping around in a 
bold outline, rise, range above range, till they are 
capped by the towering heads of Monte Rosa and 
Mont-Blanc. The bordersof the Lago Maggiore have 
all the variety of slope and precipice, of pleasing re- 

374 ARONA. 

gularity, and sudden and romantic breaks. At this 
moment the bosom of the waters was smooth and 
placid; and while the upper part of the lake was 
darkened by the shadows of the highlands, the lower 
was tinged with the reflection of the western sky. 
The tops of the more lofty mountains were still bright, 
but the light, as it descended on the successive circles, 
grew dimmer and dimmer till it left the last masses 
in sullen and gloomy grandeur. I remained here 
to enjoy the glorious and incomparable spectacle, 
till the towers of the castle wall below began to 
appear indistinctly, and twilight had covered the 

June 10th. The road from Arona runs along the 
lake, which widens as we proceed, and presents 
deeper bays and bolder and steeper banks. Beauti- 
ful country seats on the neighbouring hills are sur- 
rounded with fig, apricot, and cherry trees, and ar- 
bours overspread with grape vines. Pure streams 
descending rapidly from them crossed our path every 
moment. To prevent any injury their beds are some- 
times lined with cut stone. The hard, smooth road 
on the side towards the water is defended with high 
walls, and solid bridges are thrown over all the 

The pleasant town of Bellgirate stands on a neck 
of land running into the lake. The houses, with 
green Venetian blinds at the windows, and balconies 
filled with plants and flowers, have an unusual air of 
sprightliness. From this spot ten or twelve villages 
can be seen at once. In continuing our journey 

ARONA. 375 

nothing broke in upon the quietness of the scene s 
but the dashing of a distant oar, the chiming of the 
bells in the town we had just left, or the song of the 
labourer in the vineyards. 

We soon came in sight of the Borromean isles, on 
one of which there is a village, and on another a 
palace flanked with towers. The grounds of the 
latter, called the Isle Belle, rise in terraces, which 
are covered with orange and lemon trees, laurels and 
ornamental shrubbery. Notwithstanding the formal 
appearance of this retreat, the appellation of the beau- 
tiful island is not misplaced. 

From Baveno we took a boat and sailed to this 
Verdant pyramid. The object which was so pleasant 
and graceful to the eye at a distance, appeared too 
stiff and regular on a close inspection. The walks^ 
the terraces, the grottos incrusted with stones and 
pebbles, the artificial arrangement of the trees and 
plants, were all in the bad and perverted taste of the 
old style of gardening, where nature, instead of being 
imitated, was utterly destroyed. But the view from 
this eminence was almost as striking as from the 
ruinous castle at Arona. 



Soon after we began to ascend the Alps. Their 
rough sides were softened by cultivation, and spot- 
ted with the shepherd's cabin, or farmer's cot. The 
pass grew narrower continually, and the huge masses 
of cragged rocks, partially covered with a thin 
herbage and scattered trees, rose up on each side 
almost perpendicularly with indescribable grandeur. 
The breadth of this gorge was in many places not 
more than three or four hundred feet, where the 
height was probably from one to two thousand. 
The sides of the mountains were furrowed with deep 
ravines, and cascades falling from an immense 
height with innumerable streams, hastened to join 
and swell the river Tosa, which plunges, and foams, 
and roars in its headlong course through this dark 
and gloomy valley. 

On entering Domo Dossola we passed a triumphal 
arch, which had just been raised in honour of the Bi- 
shop, who was expected on the following day to ad- 
minister the rite of confirmation. Decorated with 
branches and vines, it was quite an interesting exhi- 
bition of rustic pomp. 

The mountains which surround Domo Dossola 
appeared finely by moonlight. The next morning 
when the sun broke over their tops it was an hour 
after its rising. The river Veriola appeared before 
us, between steep and lofty rocks ? rolling on with 


writhing and uproar. The upper region of the neigh- 
bouring Alps was white and glistering. Neat cot- 
tages, farm-houses, and churches, occupied the 
heights, and the town itself the arena of this vast 
and stately amphitheatre. 

At a short distance from this place we passed one 
of the marble columns, lying in the road, which had 
been prepared for the triumphal arch of Bonaparte 
at Milan. 

To describe the impressions which were made by 
the wild majesty of the objects around us, as we as- 
cended higher in this pass, would seem like rhapsody, 
though I were even to fall short of my actual feel- 
ings. The road frequently shifted from one side to 
the other, and in crossing the bridges we overlooked 
the torrent at a frightful depth below. The moun- 
tains, between which w r e were now enclosed, drew 
nearer together, forming, on each side, a wall of 
tremendous height. The river was also more in- 
terrupted, and the descent became so steep and ir- 
regular as to render it one succession of furious ra- 
pids, or beautiful waterfalls. In the Val di Vedro, a 
little beyond Crevola, we entered the first of those 
wonderful galleries, which were pierced through 
the solid rock, at points where the road could not be 
carried around them. This is two hundred and forty 
feet in length, and fourteen in breadth. Besides the 
general aspect of these rude valleys, a hermitage, 
a convent, or chapel, placed on some height which 
appeared almost inaccessible ; the rills oozing from 
the mountains 5 the cascades tumbling from the pre- 



cipices, or rushing down the ravines ; the ever vary- 
ing appearance of the principal stream, now flowing 
more calmly, and then pent up and impatient of 
confinement, bounding from rock to rock in sheets of 
foam; the fine bridges at every turn, and the beauti- 
ful windings of the road ; gave to every portion of the 
scene some characteristic feature and some peculiar 
source of interest. 

After mounting up the narrower and sublimer gorge 
of Yeselles, and passing Isella, we came to the con- 
fines of Switzerland. It was with a sincere and deep 
emotion that I left a country where the eye, the ear, 
the taste, the imagination, and every faculty of soul 
and body are filled with enjoyment ; a climate so sa- 
lubrious; a region adorned with, all that nature in 
her prodigality could bestow, and enriched with all 
the refinements of art \ a land peopled with recollec- 
tions, even where it is forsaken and solitary, and 
brightened, where it is fair and flourishing, with the 
reflection of past glory. I could not forbear the wish, 
thoughit was beyond the dream of hope a that this 
fond view of Italy might not be the last. 

A few wretched stone cottages, scattered through 
this dreary valley, in which there seems to be scarcely 
any thing for the support of either man or beast, 
might have been looked for, but it was a singular 
thing to see, in such a place, spacious and substan- 
tial storehouses, at certain intervals, to receive the 
merchandize of travellers. These are among the 
many conveniences which mark every part of this 
magnificent route. 


Here we noticed the remains of an avalanche 
which fell about three months before. It diverted 
the course of the river for a time, and carried it over 
the road. 

As soon as we entered Switzerland the mountains 
looked more stern and daring. Notwithstanding, 
however, the grandeur of all that I had seen, scarcely 
any part of it had equalled the boldness and extrava- 
gance of my preconceptions. Now, at some points, 
that stretch of the eye was necessary to reach the 
summit of the Alps, which came near to the flights 
of fancy. But, at the second gallery, my imagina- 
tion yielded to the power of nature. 1 was trans- 
ported and overwhelmed. To the right, a broad 
sheet of water precipitates itself from a high rock, 
and rushes into the torrent beneath. A beautiful 
stone bridge, which crosses it, leads to the dark 
mouth of the subterraneous passage, cut through the 
mountain. In a deep and narrow gulf, to the left, 
the superb and impetuous cascade of Alpirnbach 
comes down into the river with a noise that stuns 
and confounds us. The pass is here so contracted 
that the sides are not more than a hundred feet apart. 
In looking at these falls, the course of the foaming 
river, this deep and awful defile, these gray and shag- 
ged rocks, rising steeply at first, and then slightly re- 
treating and soaring till their snowy ridges almost 
appeared to have reached the zenith of heaven ; I 
was amazed by the sublimity of the spectacle, and 
confessed that the works of God surpassed all the 
thoughts of man, 


My companion, to whom the route was familiar, 
could not share in my excitement and transports, 
and frequently left me lingering behind. Having 
done so now, I walked through the second gallery, 
which is six hundred feet long, thirty high, and 
twenty-four wide. It is lighted by three large holes 
broken through the side of the mountain. 

This grand military road of Bonaparte is one of 
the most extraordinary works which was ever pro- 
jected by human power, or executed by human art. 
Where nothing had ever been seen but the zigzag 
track of mules, whose riders' heads must have often 
swum with giddiness, there is now a broad and 
smooth highway, and two carriages may pass each 
other with perfect security. There were obstacles 
of every kind, from precipices, torrents, avalanches ; 
and, at certain points, the engineers pronounced it 
impossible to proceed any farther. Bonaparte de- 
clared they should, and all obstacles were over- 

The road is built upon the most solid foundations, 
and the lower side is supported by a wall from five 
to thirty feet in height, which is usually surmounted 
by a low parapet. The bridges are frequently of 
stone. Where waters ooze from the mountains, wells 
are dug, on the inner side, to let them pass beneath 
the road ; and where they collect in torrents, they are 
carried off through subterraneous aqueducts. Where 
the sides of the mountaius appeared loose and crum- 
bling/ walls were raised against them to guard against 
accidents : and where rocks were ready to fall, they 


have been propped up with stones and mason- work, 
Where avalanches are accustomed to roll, they have 
set up triangular stones along the outer side of the 
road, with the sharp edge within, to cut them in their 
course. Where mountains seemed to have defied 
their advances, they have perforated or removed 
then. In addition to all this, magazines were 
established at certain distances, as was before re- 
marked, for the storing of merchandize, and seven 
charitable houses of entertainment for the reception 
of the cold and hungry, the lost and way-worn. Ho 
who has travelled over the Simplon can alone know 
all the greatness of Bonaparte, and however he titf&f 
detest his character, he will at least admire this dar- 
ing conception of his genius, and successful attempt 
of his power. 

In emerging from the second gallery there is ano- 
ther charming view of the fall of Alpirnbach. The 
passage, soon after this, was so contracted that the 
dark and frowning rocks seemed almost to meet 
above, and threaten the destruction of the traveller. 

A little before the village of Simplon we came to 
the third gallery, which is two hundred and forty feet 
in length. Near this point, where the mountains 
have a fearful declivity, a battle took place, in 1 802, 
between the French and Austrians, in which the for- 
mer were victorious; and, in 1814, another, in which 
they were vanquished. 

Though it was midsummer, we were at so great a 
height that snow-banks were lying along the road. 
The village of Simplon is nearly five thousand feet 


above the sea. When we had attained this elevation, 
the altitude of other mountains, which came more 
fully in sight, seemed to be in no degree diminished. 
Here we saw the bright cerulean tops of the gla- 

At a short distance from this village a large hospi- 
tal, calculated to contain three thousand persons, 
was begun by Napoleon, but has never been finish- 

In descending the Simplon, towards the Vallais, 
we passed through the fourth gallery, and rode on the 
very edge of an awful precipice. It appeared to 
me a thousand feet in the first plunge to the valley, 
which afterwards continues to descend for several 
miles. My Swiss companion, with, perhaps, as much 
truth as exaggeration, remarked, that I ought not to 
count here by feet, but by toises. The profound gulf 
before us, so abrupt in the outset, and steep in its 
lengthened course, and the lofty mountains, rising 
above it on each side, with another distant chain cross- 
ing it at the foot, affected me more than any thing 
in the whole route. The view was sublime and ap- 
palling in the highest degree, and, till I was a little 
familiarized to it, my admiration was suspended by 

Two or three times, in this part of the road, we 
perceived, in the wrecks of the fir and cedar trees 
strewed on the sides of the mountains, the devastat- 
ing course of the;! avalanches, which sweep every 
thing before them. 

Leaving the glacier of Kaltwasser, from which 


there are several cascades of an amazing height, we 
entered the fifth gallery, and winding along a giddy 
precipice, overlooked the same wild and terrific 
valley, its noisy stream, which is one of the sources 
of the Rhone, and the villages at an immense dis- 
tance below us. We crossed the bridge of Kanter a 
little beyond Persal, and made the last subterranean 
excursion through the sixth gallery, which is the 
shortest of all. The road on this side of the Simplon 
was much more neglected than on the other, but 
notwithstanding this circumstance, and the frequency 
and suddenness of the turns in it, we came down in 
the evening at the rate of six or seven miles an hour. 
About ten o'clock we arrived at Brieg, at the foot of 
the mountain. The distance from this place to the 
base of the Simplon, on the Italian side., is about 
forty-five miles. 



The remainder of my journey was still more hur- 
ried, but, nevertheless, full of interest. Passing 
through the canton of the Vallais, and skirting the 
northern shores of lake Leman, 1 spent a short time 
at Vevey, Lausanne, and Geneva, and enjoyed the 
varied beauties of that enchanting region. I then 
crossed the country, and, just stopping for a single 
day at Neuchatel, kept on to the lake of Bienne, 
The little island of St. Pierre, in the centre, so cele- 
brated by the residence and eulogiums of Rousseau, 
is a perfect paradise. My visit to the family of the 
Chaillets, at the lake of Morat, was a feast for the 
heart, and is treasured up among the most delightful 
of my recollections. From Morat I went to Berne, 
and thence to Thun. Here, dismissing my carriage, 
and hiring a guide, I made an excursion, on foot, 
along the placid and deeply embosomed lake, and 
entered, by UnterSeen, into the savage valley of 
Lauterbrun. The steep and frightful path of the 
Wengern Alp, which is about five thousand feet 
above the sea, is ascended on horseback with some 
trepidation. The hoary head of the Jungfrau rose up 
before us, with awful majesty, nearly seven thousand 
feet higher. Descending again, on foot, we walked 
along the base of the Eigher,the Schrekhorn, the Met- 
tenberg, and Wetterhorn, which are a part of the 
same grand chain. In going to Luzerne, by the 

conclusion. 385 

route of Meyringen, Sarnen, and Schwyz, how many 
secluded valleys, how many sweet and romantic 
Jakes, how many sublime and rugged mountains did 
we traverse! Two days we waited on the Rigi for 
that most expansive and magnificent of all views, 
which takes in the greater part of the Alps and four- 
teen of the lakes; but, from the haziness of the 
weather, we were tantalized only with glimpses. At 
Zurich, finishing the pedestrian tour, and taking a 
carriage, we rode to the falls of the Rhine, at SchafT- 
hausen. Then following the course of the river, 
sometimes in Germany and sometimes in Switzer- 
land, and touching the territories of France, we pro- 
ceeded to Spire and Worms, so conspicuous in the 
glorious events of the Reformation. Here, turning 
aside, we entered, by Manheim, into the state of the 
Grand Duke of Baden, visited Heidelberg, and pass- 
ed through the rich level district of the Bergstrasse, 
at the foot of those mountains, which are the scene of 
many a wild and superstitious legend, and which still 
show many a mouldering tower and picturesque ruin 
connected with these fables. From Darmstadt we 
went to Frankfort, and then came back upon the 
Rhine, at Mayence. The sail down this noble river 
to Cologne is a continued picture, the blending of 
all beauties, the union of every thing that can ravish 
the eye and excite the. imagination. As we arrived 
at Aix la Chapelle they were just making prepara- 
tions for the approaching congress of the confederat- 
ed sovereigns. Liege and Louvain did not detain us 
long, but Antwerp and Brussels were too pleasant to 



be left so hastily. The battle-ground of Waterloo 
was a solemn and melancholy stage in my journey. 
Leaving Flanders I came into France the third time, 
and, stopping at Valenciennes and Cambrai, then 
filled with the troops of the allied armies, bent my 
course towards Paris. A few weeks could only be 
spared for that vast and splendid city, where the 
public buildings, the rich and curious collections of 
art, the scientific and literary establishments, the 
spots so lately marked with the deep-stained traces 
of many a bloody and tragical event, the gay and 
sprightly manners of the inhabitants who have long 
since forgotten them, and the peculiar and infinite 
modifications of society in this little world, might 
have furnished new subjects for observation, and 
kept alive my attention for many months. Embark- 
ing at Calais and landing at Dover, I went to the heart 
of the country, and thence to the extremities, visit- 
ing Plymouth, in Devon, and Berwick-upon-Tweed, 
and almost making the entire circuit of England. I 
just set my foot in Scotland, and took a rapid glance 
of Edinburgh and its charming environs. I was al- 
most in sight of Loch Lomond, and yet was com- 
pelled to deny myself the actual gratification of be- 
holding it, and had only time enough in Glasgow to 
hear a single sermon from Dr. Chalmers, and to 
make arrangements for my departure-. The rest of 
the way to Liverpool was full of new and strange 
adventure, and there the vessel was ready to sail in 
which I had taken passage for America. 

This naked outline of the latter part of my journey. 

conclusion. 387 

if filled up, would have formed another volume. The 
hasty manner in which it was accomplished, necessa- 
rily lead to very cursory observations, but in such an 
extensive tour there are so many wild and majestic 
scenes; so much connected with the history of the 
dead, and with the character and manners of the 
living; such singular intimacies and amusing inci- 
dents i such a variety of impressions and feelings, dif- 
fering in their effect and tone from those of other tra- 
vellers; that there would, perhaps, have been enough 
toawaken interest in brief and unpretending sketches 
though not to satisfy curiosity in the form of an un- 
broken narrative. As to myself, recollection throws a 
charm over every part, and the hue which I cannot 
paint, still brightens the landscape, and the conception 
which I cannot express, is strongly felt. A thousand 
nameless and distinguishing beauties are lost and 
confounded in description, though not in memory, 
and even the fading images of the objects which de- 
lighted me, float before the mind like the remem- 
brance of a blissful dream, that leaves behind a deli- 
cious sensation when every trace of it is almost gone. 
The different faces even of transient companions 
appear before me, with the part of the route which 
I chance to recall; every conversation which impress- 
ed me is revived ; and all tne slighter shades of cha- 
racter which it is useless to mark, the minor occur- 
rences which seem not worth relating, and the drol- 
leries which divert the grave, though humour alone 
can exhibit them: are so many circumstances to en- 
liven the recollection of a journey that- cannot be 
embodied in the narration. 


A rough passage, and a company in part as dis- 
agreeable and boisterous as the stormy waves around 
us, were made more supportable by the increased 
kindness, and closer communion of those of kindred 
habits and tempers. I had now been gone nearly 
fourteen months. How the sun seems to stop in his 
course, when the yearning heart longs impatiently 
for home ! How tedious is night after night, and day 
after day, and still nothing but the sky and the ocean! 
But when we at length draw near, and the straining 
eye looks out for the haven, why as it catches it do 
we almost involuntarily recall our wishes, and taste 
the cup of trembling in the midst of our transports ? 
What a tumult in the bosom ! The high and throb- 
bing expectation sinks and dies away in fear. Will 
home be as we left it, and no endeared object whom 
we hoped to clasp, be found in the embrace of the 
grave ? It was God's mercy to spare me this pang. 
Restored with health to my family, my friends, and 
my duties, -amidst warm and hearty greetings, and joy 
too dfeep for speaking, one feeling in return rose to 
heaven which was stronger than all. 


Acherusia palus 192 

Adrian, tomb of 141 — villa 151 

Adriatic, coast less interesting than the Mediterranean 273 

Agnano, Lago d' 180 

Agrippina, tomb of 194 

Albanlake 159 

Albergo dei poveri at Naples, established for the reception of the poor 

in general, but especially for the education of the young 208 — 

Engaged in all kinds of useful and ornamental labour 208 — Apart- 

I ments judiciously arranged, and an unusual air of cleanliness 

throughout the establishment 209 

Alps, passage of the 376 — Appearance at the mouth of the gorge 376 
•—Triumphal arch raised in honour ofthe Bishop at DomoDossola 376 
•=— Val di Vedro 377" — Galleries cut through the solid rock 377 — 
Deep emotion on leaving Italy 378 — Houses for storing merchan- 
dize 378 — Mountains more stern and daring in Switzerland 379— 
Overwhelming effect of the prospect at the fall of Alpirnbach 
379 — Description of the grand military road of Bonaparte 380 
—Battles fought on it between the French and Austrians 381 — 
Profound and appalling gulf at the fourth gallery 382 — Distance 
from Brieg to the base ofthe Simplon on the Italian side 383 

Ambrose, St. church of, at Milan 360 

Ambrosian library 345 

Ancona, origin of 266 — Triumphal arch of Trajan 267 — Decline 
and revival of its commercial prosperity 267 — Beautiful appear- 
ance ofthe city from the harbour 267 — Virgin of Guido Reni 268 
— Perpetual impositions of the 'guards and custom-house officers 
269 — Trifles, a fruitful source of expense in Italy 269 

Angelo, Michael, statues of, in the church of St. Lorenzo at Florence 
93 — Anecdote of his statue of David 98 — Illuminated cross at St.- 

390 tNDEX. 

Peter's 128 — His last judgment in the Sistine chapel 225 — Creation 
227 — Head drawn with charcoal in the Farnesina palace 240 — 
Statues of St. Petronius and an angel in the church of the Domini- 
cans at Bologna 285 

Antoninus and Faustina, temple of 111 

Apollo Belvedere 230 

Appenines, passage of the 254 

Appian way, remains of at Fondi 163 — Foundations of, neajr La 
Riccia 221 

Ariosto, Recitation of his poems to a crowd of sailors and lazzaroni 
at Naples 206 — His house at Ferrara 294 — His remains removed 
from the church of St. Benedict to the library 294 — Manuscript 
written with his own hand 294 

Arona, birth-place of St. Charles Borromeo 373 — Sublime and inr 
comparable view from the ruins of his castle 373 

Arqua — Petrarch's villa converted into a farm house, 297 — Reflec- 
tions on visiting the tombs of the great 297 

Asinelli and Garisenda, towers of at Bologna 2 86 

A vermis, lake of 1 89 

Avignon, warlike and imposing in its appearance 54 — Palace of the 
Popes 54 — Metropolitan church 55 — Tomb of Laura 55 — Mai- 
son des Insensees 55 — View from the Rocher de Don 55 — Woman 
mounted on horseback a la mode des hommes 56 

Bellgirate 374 

Beziers — greatest fall in the canal of Languedoc 42 

Boethius, remains of, in the cathedral at Pavia 339 

Bologna, situation and origin of 284 — Progress of letters and the arts 
284 — Streets lined with porticos 284 — Public palaces 285 — Church 
of St. Petronius 285 — Church of the Dominicans — Statues of Mi- 
chael Angelo 285 — Beautiful fresco of Guido Reni and his tomb 
286 — Towers of Asinelli and Garisenda 286 — House of the three 
Caracci 286 — Academy 287— University 287— Gallery of Ma- 
riskalki 288 

Bolsena, the ancient Volsinium 104 — Ramble to the lake 104— Re- 
flections on the history of the Volsci, and the story of Coriolanus 
104 — Countess of Rochefocault 105 — Rumours of robbery 105 

Bonaparte, road of, from Nice to Genoa 67 — Stopped at Savone 72 
—Sentiments of the people in regard to him 45, 315 3 349-— Tri- 

INBEX, 391 

umphal arch at Milan 350 — Grand military road over the Simplon 

Borghese chapel 223 
Borromean Isles 375 
Borromeo, St. Charles, tomb of 344 
Bourdeaux, situation of 29 — Stateliness and regularity bf the modern 

part 29 — Account of its commercial prosperity 30 — Gothic church 

of St. Michael 30 — Cathedral 31 — Expensiveness of living 31 — 

Journey to Toulouse 32 
Bridge of sighs at Venice 314 
Caius Cestius, tomb of 141 
C amino, palace of 239 
Campo Santo 83 

Canal of Languedoc 39 tt 

Canova, cabinet of 243 — Statues for the Prince Regent of England 

243 — Cast of Washington 243 
Capitol 109 — View from the tower of the senators' palace 244 
Capua, amphitheatre of 166 
Caracalla, baths of 138 
Carlo Dolce's Saviour crowned with thorns in the Corsini palace at 

Rome 153 — His Magdalen in the gallery of the Marquis Manfrini 

at Venice 311 
Carthusians, monastery of near Pavia 341 
Caserta, excursion to 209 — Aqueduct 209 — Palace 210 
Catacombs of Rome 136 
Cathedral of Bourdeaux 31 

. ■ of Florence 91 

of Mantua 325 

of Milan 343 

of Pavia 339 

— of Pisa 81 

of Sienna 102 

Cattolica 273 

Cento Camerelle 193 

Church of St. Andrew at Mantua 325 

'■■*■■ ■ ■' of St. Augustin at Placentia 335 

of Santa Croce at Florence 94 

— of Santa Maria Maggiore at Rome 223 

392 index. 

Church of the Dominicans at Bologna J 5 

of St. George at Venice 308 

of St. George at Verona Szz 

of St. Justina at Padua 299 

of St. Lorenzo at Florence 9$ 

. of St. Lorenzo at Rome 145 

of St. Michael at Bourdeaux 30 

of St. Paul without the walls of Rome 224 

of St. Peter at Rome 115 

of St. Petronius at Bologna 285 

of St. Pietro in Montorio 241 

. of the Redeemer at Venice 309 

Cicero's lower villa at Mola di Gaieta 165 — Tomb 218 
Civita Castellana 25# 
Clitumnus, temple of 256 
Cloaca Maxima 143 
Colfiorito 257 

Coliseum, vast dimensions of 114 — Present appearance 114 — Excla- 
mation of the northern pilgrims 115— The outer wall threatened 
with speedy ruin 115 — Moonlight visit 125 
Column of Antoninus 143 

of Trajan 143 

Communion of St. Jerome 121 
Concord, temple of 110 
Consefvatori, palace of the 245 
Constantine, triumphal arch of 113 

Correggio's Saviour in the gallery of Mariskalki at Bologna 289 — 
Assumption of the Virgin in the cathedral at Parma 328 — St. John 
329— Chase of Diana 331 — Virgin of St. Jerome 332 
Corsini chapel in the church of St. John Laterian 223 
Corsini palace 153 
Cumae, site of 183 
Dante, tomb of at Ravenna 281 
Diocletian, baths of 139 — The Pinacotheca converted into the 

church of Sainte Marie des Anges 139 
Domo Dossola 377" 
Elysian Fields 193 
Fano 271 

INDEX. ,*.03 

Farnese palace 154 

Farnese gardens 154 

Farnesina palace 240 

Ferrara — visit to Mrs. Totti 291 — Italian preachers 292 — Change in 
the aspect of this city 293— House of Ariosto 294 — Library 294 — 
Prison of Tasso 294 

Fesch, Cardinal, gallery of 23/ 

Florence 89— Respect shown to the Grand Duke in passing 89 — Bap- 
tistery 90 — Cathedral 91 — Splendour of the service 92 — Elocution 
of one ofthe preachers 92 — Delightful prospect front the belfry 92 — 
Church of St. Lorenzo 93— Statues of Michael Angelo 93 — Epi- 
gram of Giovanni Strozzi on the figure of night 93 — Mausoleum 
of the Medici 94 — Monuments of the illustrious dead in the Church 
of Santa Croce 94 — Palaces of Florence 95— Palazzo Ricardi95 — 
Palazzo Pitti 96— Garden of Boboli 97^-Palazzo Vecchio 98-— 
David of Michael Angelo, and anecdote of his patron Soderini 
98 — -Gallery of Florence 99 — Venus de Medici and Venus of 
Titian 99— Head of John the Baptist, by Leonardo da Vinci 100 — ■ 
Group of Niobe 100 — Gallery always open to citizens and strangers 
101 — Cabinet of natural history and anatomical figures in wax, by 
Fontana 101 — Attentions of Mr. Ambrosi 101 — Journey to Rome 
102 — PoggibonSi 102— Sienna 102— Country wild and desolate 
beyond Poderina 103 — Radicofani 103 — Bolsena 104 — Ramble to 
the lake 104— Reflections on the Volsci and Coriolanus 104 — J 
From Ronciglione to Rome a naked and neglected waste 105- — 
Limbs of malefactors suspended on poles as a terror to evil doers 
105 — Strong and singular emotions on approaching Rome 106 

Fondi 163 

Fortuna Virilis, temple of 143 

Gallery of Florence 99 

Grotto del Cane 180 

*— — ! — of the Cumsean sibyl 184 

— ^— of the sibyl at lake Avernus 189 

Guido Reni's Aurora, at the Rospigliosi palace 238 — Virgin, at Am 
cona 268 — Beautiful fresco painting in the church of the Domini-* 
cans, at Bologna 286— Tomb 286 

Herculaneum — Theatre 177" — Museum of Portici 178 

Horatii and Curiatiij tomb of 160 

Italian Character and Manners described— peculiarly difficult task 365 


$94- INDEX 

—Kind-hearted and affectionate 367 — Courteous towards stran- 
gers 368 — Morals of the upper classes loose 368 — Lower orders 
almost universally dishonest 368 — More good nature and greater 
equanimity of temper than the French 369 — Indolent chiefly from 
the want of employment 370 

Jupiter Serapis, temple of, at Pozzuoli 184 

Laura, tomb of, at Avignon 55 — Her garden at Vaucluse 57 

Lechi, Count, gallery of 351 

Leghorn, description of 78 — Mole 79 — Statue of Ferdinand I. 79 

Leonard, Mr. aneedote of 224 

Lerici, voyage to 71 — Situation of Monaco 71 — Romantic coast 72 — 
Striking view near Savone 72 — Appearance of Genoa from the 
gulf 73 — Enchanting scenery below it 73 — Journey to Leghorn— 
Sarzana 77— Massa 77 — Catechetical instruction at Pietra Santa 
77 — Costume of the women 78 — Face of the country 78 

Loretto — Santa Casa 261 — Enrapturing music 263 — Bronze gates of 
the cathedral 263 — General remarks on the music of Italy 264 — 
Worship of the church of Rome imposing 265 — Anecdote of a 
gentleman from Holland 265 

Lucca 86 

Macerata 259 

Maison Carree, at Nismes 47 

Mamertine prisons 222 

Mantua — Cathedral 325— Church of St. Andrew 325 — Jews' quarter 
326- — Climate of the north of Italy 326 — Embankments on the Pc* 
3 27-* Vexatious detentions by police and custom-house officers 327 

Marino San, description of 274 — Agreeable interview with Signore 
Honofrio 274 — Brief account of their political economy 275 — In- 
troduction to several of his friends 276 

Mariskalki, gallery of, at Bologna 288 — Pictures of Legozzi 289 — 
Saviour of Correggio 289 

Marseilles-, delightful situation of 58 — Regularity and elegance of the 
new city 58 — The quay 59 — Promenades 59 — Amusements 60 

Martin's, St. church of, in ruins 17 — Romantic appearance of the 
towers at twilight 1 8 

Medici, mausoleum of the 94 

Metella Cecilia, tomb of 135 

Milan—Cathedral 343— Tomb of St/Charies Borromeo 344— Am- 

brosian library 345— Evening visit to the cathedral 345— Palace 

INDEX. 395 

t>i the Viceroy 346 — Villa of Belgiojoso 346 — Royal palace of 
arts and sciences — observatory — botanical garden — gallery of pic- 
tures 347 — Mint 348 — Complaints against the oppression of the 
Austrians, and lurking attachment to Bonaparte 349 — Works of 
Bonaparte in Milan — gates — amphitheatre — triumphal arch 350 — 
Gallery of Count Lechi 351 — Remark of a Milanese lady on a pic- 
ture of Paul Veronese 351 — Singular embarrassment here 352 — 
Concert at the church of St. Mary 353 — Extraordinary sermon on 
the compassion and power of the Virgin 353— Two masses fre- 
quently celebrated in the same church at one time 354 — The wor- 
shippers never disturbed in their devotions by any noise or coufu- 
sion 354 — Remarks on this abstraction and fervour 354 — Other 
impressive circumstances in the Romish church 355 — Dresses of 
the priests at the altar and in the stalls 357 — Manner of conducting 
the service 358 — Different costume of the clergy and monks when 
they appear abroad 358 — Ecclesiastics innumerable 359— Their 
private habits 359 — Attention to their public duties 359 — Relicks 
in the church of St. Anthony 360 — Veneration of the statue of St. 
Peter 360 — Promises of indulgence for acts of devotion to the Vir- 
gin and kissing the cross in the Coliseum 360 — Church of St. Am- 
brose — thedepository of his ashes 360 — Penance of Theodosius 361 
— Attention to catechetical instruction 361 — Last Supper, by Leo- 
nardo da Vinci 36l — Passports a source of perpetual trouble 
364 — Journey to Arona 370— Description of the car-a-banc— 
convenient for the passage of the Alps 371 — Inscriptions over the 
gates of the cemeteries 371 — Beautiful country towards Sesto 372 
Recent famine in Piedmont 372 

Mira, porta della, a delightful town on the Brenta— the scenery sw^et 
and peaceful beyond it 302 

Miserere of Allegri 123 

Mola di Gaieia, bay of 164 

Monaco 71 

Monte Mario, view from 241 

Montpellier, Place du Peyrou 43 — School of Medicine 43 — Grave of 
Narcissa 43 — Climate salubrious, but not in pulmonary complaints 
45 — Conversation on the' actual state of France, and remarks of 
the only person who defended the measures of the reigning mo- 
narch 45 

Museum Capitolinum 245 

396 INDEX. 

Music K){ Italy — Miserefe of Allegri at the Sistlue chapel 124 — En- 
chanting melody of the choir at the church of St. John Lateran 128 
*— Concert at Naples 206— Hymn to the Virgin in the church near 
the theatre of San Carlo 207"— -Choir at Loretto 263 — General re- 
marks on the music of Italy 264 

Naples, journey to 158 — Apprehensions of robbery 158 — Ruinous 
tombs 158— -Alban lake 159 — Pompey's villa 159 — Tomb of the 
Horatii and Curiatii 160 — La Riccia 160 — Velletri 160 — Citerna 
160— Road of Pius VI. across the Pomptine marshes 162 — Ter- 
racina 162 — Perpetual impositions of the custom-house officers 
163 — Fondi — Appian way — Wretched and affecting appearance 
of the beggars 163 — Itri 164 — Bay of Mola di Gaieta 164— 
Cicero's lower villa 165 — River Garigliano 165— St. Agatha- 
Degeneracy of the Falernian wine 165 — Amphitheatre at ancient 
Capua 166 

Naples — immense and active population — general air of elegance in 
the buildings — situation of incomparable beauty 167 — Toledo 168 
— Neapolitan calechel69 — Lieutenant Clarke 1 69 — Prospect from 
the hospital of invalids 196 — Studio 200 — Glorious view from the 
convent of St. Bridget 204— Recitations from Ariosto to a crowd 
of lazzaroni and sailors 206 — Concert at St. Augustine's 206 — > 
Hymn to the Virgin 20f — Preternatural effect of the music at the 
elevation of the host 208 — Remains of the temple .of Castor and 
Pollux 208 — Sketch of Rosano 212 — Separation from Mr. Hands 

Obelisks of Rome 144 

Padua— Church of St. Justina 299 

Palace of Maria Louisa at Parma 330 

Pantheon 107 

Parma adorned by the genius of Correggio 328 — His assumption of 
the Virgin in the Cathedral 328 — Monument of Agostino Carracci 
329— Correggio's St. John 329— Transfiguration by Parmigiano 
329 — Palace of Maria Louisa — Splendour of her toilet 330 — 
Watchful jealousy of her father 330 — Palace of the garden — Scenes 
from Orlando Furioso and Tasso, painted by Parmigiano and An- 
nibal Carracci, and whitewashed by Ferdinand de Bourbon 330 — 
Those by Carracci partially restored 331 — Chamber of Augustin Car- 
racci 33 1 — Correggio's chase of Diana 331 — Virgin of St. Jerome 332 

"Pavia, Cathedral of— Remains of St. Augustine and Boethius said te b$ 

INDEX. 397 

deposited here 339 — University 339 — Battle ground where Francis 
I. was defeated and captured 340— Monastery of the Carthusjajis 
near Pavia 341 — Rice fields 342 — Recent famine 342 

Pesaro 272 

Petrarch, villa of, at Arqua 297 — Reflections at his tomb 297 

Pietra Santa 77 

Pierre, St. 283 

Pisa 80— Lung' Arno 80 — General appearance of the city 81 — Ca= 
thedral 81 — Leaning tower 82 — Baptistery 83 — Campo Santo 83 
— Comparison between the climate of Pisa and Nice — Journey to 
Florence 85 — Country adorned with every beauty of nature and 
art 85 — Lucca 86 — 'Luxuriant vale beyond it 87 — Comeliness of 
the peasant girls 88 

Pisani palace 300 

Pisciarelli 181 , 

Piscina Mirabile 193 

Pijti Palazzo at Florence — Splendour of the apartments 96 — Madon 
na della Sedia 96 — Magdalen of Titian 97 

Pius VI. road of, across the Pomptine marshes 162, 219 

Placentia — Statues of Alexander andRannuccio Farnese 335 — Church 
of St. Augustin, by Vignola 335 — Manner of travelling from Rome 
336 — Difficulties in the journey to Pavia 336 

Pompeii — Theatres 173 — Temple of Tsis 171 — Amphitheatre 172 — 
Private buildings 172— Streets 173 — Sepulchral monuments 174 
■ — Recent excavations 174 — General observations 175 — Extrava- 
gance and! affectation of many travellers who visit this city 176 

Pompey, statue of, in the Spada palace at Rome 1 1 5 

Pomptine marshes 162 

Pont du Gard 52 

Portici, museum of 178 

Posilipo, grotto of 179 

Pozzuoli and Baise, excursion to 179 — Grotto of Posilipo 179 — Lago 
d'Agnano 180 — Grotto del Cane 180 — Stufe di San Germano 180 
■—Pisciarelli 181 — Solfatara 182 — Amphitheatre of Puteoli 183 
—Ancient Cumae 183 — Grotto of the Cumsean sibyl 184 — Tem- 
ple of Jupiter Serapis at Puteoli 184 — Coins and medals offered 
for sale 184 — Recollections of a departed friend 185 — Remains of 
a pagan temple 188 — Puteoli, the temporary residence of St. Paul 
<m his way to Rome 188 — Monte Nuovo 189— Lake of Avernus 

398 INDEX. 

189— Grotto of the sibyl 1%9—Stufe di Tritoli 190— Ingratitude 
and brutality of the common people in this part of Italy, and in 
many other places 191 — Acherusia palus 192 — Temples of Diana, 
Mercury, and Venus 192 — Piscina Mirabile 193 — Cento Camer- 
elle 193— Elysian Fields 193— Tomb of Agrippina 194— Whole 
excursion varied by vexation and delight 194 

Puteoli 183,184 

Quarantine in France, scrupulous regulations of 19 

Quirinal palace 236 

Radicofani 103 

Ravenna, origin of 279 — Singularly built 279 — Change in the pre- 
sent appearance 279 — Tomb of Theodoric 280 — Cathedral 280 — 
Tomb of Dante 281 — Journey to Bologna 281 — Itinerant singers 
at Faenza 281— Fair at St. Pietro 283 

Ricardi palace 95 

Rimini, memorable from the address of Julius Caesar to his army, and 
the great council in the year 360, 277 — Bridge of Augustus 278 
— Triumphal axxh 278 

Rochefort 23 

Rochelle, interesting appearance of, from our anchorage 17 — Land- 
ing at night and fear of the guards 20 — First impressions on enter- 
ing an European city 21 — Description of the diligence 22 — Jour- 
ney to Bourdeaux 22 — Rochefort 23 — Saintes 23 — Fields without 
fences or hedges 26— Fair at Blaye 27 

Rome— Pantheon 107— Capitol 109— Church of Ara Cceli 110— 
Forum* 110 — Temple of Jupiter Tonans 110 — Temple of Concord 
110 — Temple of Jupiter Stator 110 — Column of Phocas 110 — ■ 
Triumphal arch of Septimius Severus 111 — Temple of Antoninus 
and Faustina 111 — Temple of Peace 111 — Triumphal arch of 
Titus 112 — Tarpeian rock 112— Change in the surface and as- 
pect of Rome 113 — Spada palace — Statue of Pompey 113 — Tri- 
umphal arch of Constantine 113 — Coliseum 114 — St. Peter's 115 
— Vatican — Gallery of pictures — Transfiguration 119 — Communi- 
on of St. Jerome 121— Visit to Mr. Barber 122— Miserere at the 
Sistine chapel 123 — Coliseum by moonlight 125 — Ceremonies of 
Holy Thursday 126 — Pope's blessing from the balcony of St. Pe- 
ter's 126 — Music at St. John Lateran on Good-Friday 127— Illu- 
minated cross 128 — Decision of the magistrate against the unjust 
exactions of ahackniau 129— Celebration of the anniversary.ofthe 

INDEX. 399 

election of Pope Pius VII. in the Pontifical palace on the Quirinal 
hill 130 — Washing the feet of the pilgrims at Trinity Church 132 
— Service at St. Peter's on Easter-Sunday 132 — Illumination of the 
dome 133 — The Holy Week at Rome interesting, but more like 
a carnival than the season of our Saviour's death and passion 134 
—Tomb of Cecilia Metella 135 — Circus of Caracalla 136 — Basilica 
of St. Sebastian — Catacombs 136— Baths of Titus 137— Baths 
of Caracalla 138 — Baths of Diocletian 139 — Tomb of Adrian 141 
Tomb of Caius Cestius 141 — Sepulchre of the Scipios' 142 — Tem- 
ple of Fortuna Virilis 143 — Cloaca Maxima 143 — Column of An- 
toninus 143 — Column and forum of Trajan 143 — Obelisks — largest 
in the square of St. John Lateran 144 — Villa Pamfili 152 — Corsi- 
ni palace 153 — Farnese palace 154 — Farnese gardens 154 — Villa 
Borghese 155— ^Cafeneuf 157 — Mamertine prisons 222 — Santa 
Scala222 — Corsini chapel 223 — Borghese chapel 223 — Santa Ma- 
ria Maggiore 223 — St. Paul's without the walls 224 — Anecdote of 
Mr. Leonard 224 — Vatican 225 — Quirinal palace 236 — Gallery of 
Cardinal Fesch 237 — Rospigliosi palace 238 — Palace of Camino 
239 — Farnesina palace 240 — St. Pietro in Montorio 241 — Monu- 
ment of Tasso 241 — Monte Mario 241 — Skulls of assasins over 
the gate of St. Angelo 242 — Mistaken clemency of the Pope 242 
— Cabinet and workshop of Canova 243 — Palace of the Senator 
244 — Museum Capitolinum 245- — Palace of the Conservatori 245 
— Final visit to St. Peter's 247 — Ascent of the cupola and ball 24/ 
— Separation from Totti 249 

Rome, return to, from Naples 215 — Sketch of Capt. Bennet 215— 
Pictures on the walls of houses representing souls in purgatory 215 
— Luxuriance of the country 216 — Bennet's settlement of the ac- 
count at Capua 216— His remarks on the battle of New-Orleans 217 
— Tomb of Cicero 218 — Insolence of the servants at Terracina 217 
Bennet's prompt vengeance on the extortion of a cafatiere 219— 
Lima Via 219 — Military stations on the road to guard against rob- 
bers 220 — Rumours of their atrocities 220 — Lake of Nemi 221 — ■ 
Foundations of the Appian way 221 

Rome, journey from, to Loretto 250 — Trouble with the driver 250 
—Detention on the Campagna 251 — Nepi 251 — Civita Castellana 
251 — Borghetto 252 — Bridge of Augustus 252 — Romantic defile 
in the mountains near Narni 252— Ancient Bridge253 — Falls of 
Terni 254— Passage of the Appenine§254— Spoleto 255— Temple 

"400 INDEX. 

of Clitumnus 256— Shrewdness of the common people 257--C'olfi- 
brito257 — Battle-ground of Tolentino258 — Beauty of the country, 
and ease and comfort of the inhabitants 259 — Macerata259 — Extor- 
tion of the inn-keepers 260— Singular importunity of the beggars 260 

Rosano, sketch of his character 212 

jRospigliosi palace 238 

Rovigo — Emblems of death in front of the churches 295— Beauty and 
taste of the women in the lower walks of life 295 

Saintes — Triumphal arch of Germanicus 23 — Rudeness of the com- 
pany at the table d'hote from the supposition that we were En- 
glishmen 23 — Roman amphitheatre 24 — Fountain of St. Eustelle 
25 — Vehemence of a missionary at St. Peter's 25 

Santa Casa, at Loretto 26l 

Santa Scala 222 

Sarzana 77 

Scipios, sepulchre of the 142 

Septimius Severus, triumphal arch of 1 1 1 

Sienna 102 

Sinigaglia 270 

Sketch of the remainder of the journey from my entrance into 
Switzerland till my arrival in America 384 — General observations 
387-'— Agitation in approaching home 388 

Solfatara 182 

South of France — Appearance of the country in winter 41— Climate 
of Montpellier 45 — Mistral 60 

Spoleto 365 

Studio of Naples— -Pictures 200 — Statues—Hercules of Glycon 202 
— Dying gladiator 202 — Process of unfolding the papyri 202—= 
Collection of antiques 203 

Stufe di San Germano, 180 

Stufe di Tritoli, or hot baths of Nero 190 

Tarpeian rock 112 

Tasso, tomb of 241 — Prison at Ferrara 294 

Terni, falls of 254 

Terracina 162 

Theodoric, tomb of, at Ravenna 280 

Titian's Magdalen, in the Palazzo Pitti 97— Venus, in the gallery of 
Florence 99 — Deposition from the cross, in the collection of the 
Marquis Manfrini 313— Assumption of the Virgin, in the cathe- 
dral of Verona 322 

INDEX. 401 

Titus, baths of 137 

Titus, triumphal arch of 112 

Tivoli, excursion to 145 — Church of St. Lorenzo 145 — Campagna 
145 — Via Tiburtina 146 — Tartar lake 146— .Ponte Lugano 146 
— Falls of the Anio 147 — Temple of the sibyl 147 — Second fall 
more wild and romantic 147 — View from Monte Catillo 148 — • 
Tour of the hills 149 — Quintigliolo — golden medal of Trajan pur- 
chased of aploughboy 149— Cascatelli 150. — Villa of Maecenas 150 
~-VilJa of Adrian 151— Villa Estense 152 

Tolentino, battle-ground of 258 

Toulon — Description of the city and harbour 61 

Toulouse, journey to 32 — Rich and beautiful country from Bourdeaux 
to Auch 32 — Towns and villages picturesque at a distance but dis- 
gusting within 33 — Visit to the chateau de Bellegarde 34 — Cathe- 
dral at Auch 34 

Toulouse, description of 37 — Ramble over the ground where the bat- 
tle was fought between Lord Wellington and Marshal Soult 37 — ' 
Unfavourable impressions of the French Protestants 38 — Delight in 
attending the service of the Episcopal church 38 

Trajan, triumphal arch of, at Ancona 267 

Transfiguration 119 

Vatican, splendour of 225 — Last Judgment of Michael Angelo, in the 
Sistine chapel 225 — Creation, by the same — Anecdote of Julius 
II. 227 — Corridor of inscriptions and statues 228 — Torso of Bel- 
vedere — Sarcophagus of Scipio Barbatus 228 — Chamber of Mele- 
ager 229 — Portico of the court 229 — Perseus and wrestlers of Ca- 
nova 229 — Mercury of Belvedere or Antinous— Laocoon — Apollo 
230— Hall of animals 230— Gallery of statues 231— Hall of busts 
231 — Beautiful cabinet adjoining it 232 — Chamber of the muses 
232 — Vast basin of porphyry in the round hall 233 — Tombs of 
St. Constantia and St. Helena 233 — Chamber of the Chariot 234 
Staircase of the museum 234 — Gallery of vases and candelabri 234 
— Apartments hung with tapestry after the cartoons of Raphael 
234— Chambers of Raphael 234— Library 235 

Vaucluse, fountain of 56 

Velletri — Peculiar costume of the women 160 — Villainous cast of 
countenance in the men 161 — Visitation of a sick person l6l 

Venice as it appears from the lake of Fusina 802— Situation resei*- 


402 INDEX, 

bling that of New- York 302— Square of St. Mark 303— Library 
and mint 304— Ducal palace 304— Quay 304 — Animation and in- 
terest of the various groups in the square of St. Mark 305 — Reli? 
gious ceremony at St. Pietro di Castello 306-^-Concert at the church 
della Pieta 306 — Matchless beauty of the Venetian women 307 — 
Rialto 308— Singular signs 308— Church of St. George 308— 
Church of the Redeemer 309 — Church del Giosuati 309— Palaces 
309— Scalzi church 310 — General appearance of Venice 310 — 
Gallery of the Marquis Manfrini — Magdalen of Carlo Dolce 311 
Titian's deposition from the cross 313 — Pictures at the Ducal pa- 
lace 313— Bridge of sighs 314— Belfry of St. Mark's 314— Bronze 
horses from Corinth 314 — Remarks of Mr. Heinzelman on the Unit- 
ed States 315 — Observation of a servant on Bonaparte 315 — Lions 
from the Piraeus of Athens 315 — No beggars in Venice 316 — De- 
scription of the gondola 31 6 — Country between Venice and Padua 

Verona — Tombs of the Scaligers, king Pepin, and Juliet 320 — JLyce^. 
desFilles 321— Porta del Pallio 321— Museum of Maffei 321— 
Gate of Gallienus 321 — Church of St. Anastasia— Picture of Rot- 
tari 321 — Cathedral — Assumption of the Virgin 322 — Church of 
•St. George — Picture of his martyrdom, by Paul Veronese 322 — 
Amphitheatre 323 

Vesuvius, excursion to 197 — Hermitage 197 — Ascent not so difficult 
as formerly 197 — Eruptions of 1817, 197 — Disappointment on be- 
holding the grand crater 198 — General aspect of the mountain 199 
— Rapidity of the descent 199 

Vicenza— House of Palladio 317— Theatre built by him on the plan 
of the ancient theatres 317 — Palaces 318 — Villa of Capra 319 — 
Church of the Madonna del Monte 319 — Euganean hills 320 — 
Church of the Madonna della Campagna 320 

Vidauban — Vexatious delay there from the fraudulent demands of the 
Post-Master 62 

Villa Pamfili 152 

— — Borghese 155 

— — of Capra, at Vicenza 319 

Vinci's, Leonardo da, head of John the Baptist in the gallery of Flo- 
rence 100— Last Supper, at Milan 36l 

Virgil, tomb of 195 

INDEX. 40$ 

Voyage from Frejus to Nice 63 

Voyage to France 9 — Apprehensions of a novice 9 — Description 
of a storm 10 — Listlessness and ennui at sea 11— Joy in ap- 
proaching the haven 12 — Danger of shipwreck in attempting to en? 
ter the Garonne 1 3- — Impressions upon our deliverance 1 5 

'Worship, Protestant, at Naples and Rome 195 — Spirit of toleration 
gaining influence even in the bosom of popery 195 — Roman Ca» 
Iholics still careful in guarding the people of their own communion 
against the supposed errors of Protestants 196. 


Page 11, line 15, for " FInistere," which occurs in some copies, read Finisterre. 

15, 11 from the bottom, for "determing," which occurs in some copies, 
read deciding. 

36, 2, for " Bareges, read Barreges. 

83, 17, far " six," read fifty-six. 

89, 6, for " Pistoa," read Pistoia. 

93, 16, for " Guliano," read Giuliano. 

113, 1, for "has ancient Rome not only disappeared," read not only has 

ancient Rome disappeared. 

147, 3 and 23, for " Sibyll," read Sibyl; so also at page 149, line 9. 

153, 16, for " manifiest," read manifest. 

157, 2, for " vilicus," read villicus. 

162, 2, for "marches," read marshes. 

168, 4, for " Pausilippo," read Posilipo; so also at page 179, line 11. 

183, 8 from the bottom, for " relique," read relick. 

200, 8, for " Hannibal," read Annibal. 

268, 2 from the bottom, for " possession," read family . 

275, 7 from the bottom, for " hasty," read brief 

309, 4 from the bottom, for " severer," read severe. 

316, 13, for " It," read This. 

328, 8, for " Corregio,"(read Correggio ,• so also at page 329, line 18; page 

331, line 3 from the bottom; and page 332, line 18. 

328, 9, omit " who adorned it." 

341, 9, tor "thirteen," read three. 

373, m 5 from the bottom, for " no^th," read north-ivest. 

375, 9 from the bottom, for " graceful," reaAgratef/!. 

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